Stages of Grief
by Foxy'sGirl
Summary: Sequel to Chasing Thunderstorms. After the storm clears, assessing the damage is harder than expected.
1. Chapter 1

**I'm baaack…**

**And thanks so much to Midoriko-sama for all the help!**

0000

Three months of Astrid dating Hiccup is monumental at the same time as it's completely expected and wonderfully mundane. Sometimes, it feels like she's been with Hiccup for her entire life.

Other times, it seems like just days, or only hours, and she'll get it in her mind that he's _forbidden_ and drive herself crazy with it. Maybe her absence of mind can be attributed to how they got together and when. For one thing, Hiccup wasn't exactly conscious, but he also wasn't saying no when she _claimed_ him.

And after he woke up, crawling into bed with him to make sure he didn't forget himself and get a concussion on the way to the bathroom was natural, protective. It made sense, and everything was wonderful and new, and every time they said I love you, it was like _flying_.

It didn't help matters that she was living him while his father was perennially out of town, tragically blurring the line between girlfriend and nurse. Not that Astrid minded, because it was beyond perfect not having to set foot at home, and getting a few well deserved days off of school at the request of a congressman. It just made the first couple weeks of their relationship…unconventional to say the least.

Then came the doctors' appointments, prosthetics offices, and the physical therapists, and long afternoons doing her homework in hospital waiting rooms. Somehow it was suddenly finals, and she was helping him down hallways, and glaring at people who dared to stare at him, playing her new role of bodyguard.

Again, not that she minded.

Then, it was winter break, and Gerard was home, and she was told to act like a _guest_, whatever that meant, pretending to be family in someone else's house. Well, for all of two days until the man drove himself mad trying to take care of Hiccup and really _begged _her to take over. It didn't help that Hiccup was stubborn as all hell, refusing to let anyone see his leg, even resorting to glaring _her_ down when he got infection between the second and third trial prosthetics.

She remembers wrestling her hand out of his feverish, completely new strength and wrapping his stump with cautious, medical hands. He lasted days in that horrible delirium, flushed and sweaty, distant and miserable.

He spent a lot of time in bed, denying there was anything wrong with him at the same time as he wallowed in self-loathing, leaving her to spoon up against his back, holding him together. It felt like eternity, her arms invading the bubble of his depression and keeping him close. It'd only taken a week to heal, his immune system still in overdrive, with physical therapy accelerating his blood flow, and they'd both been happy to get back to a routine.

Christmas passed in a blur and suddenly it was school again, this time dealing with actual life, and the full load of his walking, and all of the rubbing and cramping that goes along with it. And then it's the chiropractor, straightening out everything that the prosthetics mess up, and then it's the soreness, and the midnight pacing around the house on crutches because he can't lay down comfortably.

And now it's Valentine's Day, and they're sitting in some restaurant on what feels like some completely ridiculous first date. He even put on a suit, and the thought makes her blush as his hand shyly reaches across the table and grabs hers, thumb stroking across her skin like she's special.

He couldn't look more different from the emaciated boy that left the hospital last winter, all those knobby joints filled in with long lean muscles, filling out the shoulders of his suit jacket. It's decidedly magnificent to fall in love with someone for their mind and then have them suddenly exceed any boyish physical charm he'd ever had. Not in a shallow way, at all, but looking at him is just as great as talking to him, and it's…well, she really loves talking to him. The only thing horrible about his remarkably successful physical therapy is that he's _heavy_ now, and she can't haul him around anymore.

On the other hand, she got in his way in the kitchen last week and he hefted her by her shoulders and _put_ her closer to the counter, nonchalant as he slipped around her to grab a mug out of the cupboard. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been so furious, but it'd somehow dissolved into astonished laughter as she yelled at him and her throat scarcely remembered the sensation.

She's _happy_.

"…ok?" He looks concerned, eyebrows furrowed as he stares at her, "You ok?" There's something to be said for cliché candlelight, his eyes are positively distracting.

"Yeah," she smiles back, holding his hand more tightly. "I'm just…thinking."

"What about?" Hiccup is nervous, to say the least, he wishes that he'd had the chance to do this months ago, but now it feels…oddly forced.

Or maybe that's just him.

Maybe Astrid's the pizza and beer kind of girl. A too large part of him wants to leave the fancy restaurant and go home. They could start a fire, and she could change into those disgusting sweatpants she loves far too much.

He'd spend the night blissfully clueless as to the true shape of her under the fabric, utterly unable to stop trying to imagine every curve.

"Just…you, honestly." She answers, looking too beautiful in her blue dress. This is the first time that she actually went out of her way and dressed up for him, and it's odd. The absolute best kind of odd.

Maybe the slightly awkward change of pace is worth it for a day without losing her to those too big sweatpants.

"Well, what about me?"

"I'm just glad that…ugh, have I mentioned that you make it hard to talk?" She spits at him, tearing her tingling hand away from his grasp, still not entirely ok with how off-balance he sometimes makes her feel. He cocks his head and his eyebrows are fantastic, sharp and thick.

Horrifyingly expressive.

"No, not today," he smiles, her sharp tone making everything a little more normal. She's the only one who's not so falsely _nice_ all the time.

"This is my first Valentine's date," she admits, flushing at his rakish smirk. Scott's idea of ultimate romance was a three dollar box of chocolates from Walgreens, that he demanded her to share and she could never really thank him enough for. And then it'd come up for months and months afterward, it'd be June and he'd be reminding her about that time he got her candy.

"This is my first date," he says and it makes her laugh. "But, you're laughing, so I can't be doing too badly."

"You're doing fine," she consoles him. "I mean, I didn't know you owned a suit." He flushes, ducking his head before taking a deep swig of his coke.

"It barely fits anymore, I thought I was going to rip it pulling it on," he admits and she laughs. The cliché hits him over the head like a cartoon frying pan and he groans, "God, it's too much isn't it?" He looks around the restaurant, from the tuxedoed waiters to the other couples, ducked over candlelit dinners kissing too passionately for public. "I knew it would be too much."

"It's fine, really," she smiles at him, "I'm just kind of tired, with track starting up an all."

"I know," her foot touches his under the table and he can't help but grin, "how's that going, anyway?"

"Good, but the double practices are murder. I'm going to be so glad in three weeks when Worlds are over and I can stop worrying about Cross Country. I mean I think we've got a chance at state this season in at least the four by eight," She turns his palm over in her hands and traces lines across it, glad to touch him in a way that isn't _medical_. He's glad that she's talking, it's a snog-free opportunity to catch up. Not that making out is _bad_…just distracting. "Lindsay really has potential, if she just lengthens her stride, maybe gets a little more competitive. Ally is already there, she just needs someone to tell her that she is."

"It's good to hear you involving yourself a little more," he admits, and she groans.

"You sound like Gobber," she glances over her shoulder as a too drunk woman in a too tight dress knocks down a chair. Her date looks positively sleazy as he slides an arm around her waist, and drags her out of the restaurant. The scene leaves a bad taste in her mouth and she turns back to Hiccup.

"Probably less Scottish though," he says, before launching into a completely accurate impression of her coach that has her bent over laughing so hard she's snorting as she holds her sides together with cramping fingers. "…ge' tha' dog offa the track!"

"Stop stop stop…" she urges as people around them start to stare.

"What? You normally like that." He grins cheekily, and she tries to glare at him, but she's laughing too hard, bent over the table.

"Stop making me laugh…jerk," She giggles, struggling to pull herself together as a waiter appears from the eaves and sets the dramatic chocolate dessert that she chose on the middle of the table in front of them. The waiter shoots her an odd look and she puts on a too serious expression before picking up a spoon and digging in, laughing around her first spoonful of cake.

"And then there's that guy, wondering what you're doing with _me_." He takes a small bite, fully knowing that he'll be lucky to get a quarter of dessert.

"I'm pretty sure he was wondering how you got laughing gas into a fancy restaurant," she takes another bite of the cake and positively _moans _around it, and Hiccup flushes, "that's awesome."

"I was trying to compliment you," he admits, and she glares at him.

"By insulting yourself?" She finds his toes beneath the table, and rubs her shoe against the side of his foot. He drops his fork. "Has that ever worked?"

"Guess not," he takes another flustered bite and shifts away from the attention, but she follows, foot sliding around to his calf. He can feel the tip of her heel against the side of his pants and he exhales sharply. There are a lot of positives to dating Astrid Hofferson, and her absolutely ridiculous level of allure is one of them.

So is her absolute irreverence, and the fact that she's not afraid to yell at anyone who might look at him funny. Not to mention the fact that she walks his dog, and gets him out of bed in the morning and _loves_ him.

He remembers staring at her from afar, taking in all those still captivating lean curves and telling himself how it would never happen, and how it was time to get over it and get on with his life.

But now…

Well, he wouldn't even say that it _happened_. It's more like it happened to them. An unavoidable personal attack

It's like they got sucked into a black hole and dumped out the other side into an alternate universe. He's still getting a hang of the new reality, still accumulating data on his surroundings and filling his suddenly empty catalogue of observations.

"So how was your week, anyway? I feel like I didn't see you at all," Astrid comments, focused on finagling a particularly gooey bite of ice cream onto her spoon. She eats the too big bite and Hiccup smiles at the melting vanilla that attempts to escape.

"It was fine. Just school," he answers with a shrug and she swallows and frowns.

"Nothing interesting happened?"

"Well, Ruff is in my woodshop class, I assume she told you about the fire?" Astrid sputters around her food, laughing too hard as she forces the bite down her throat. "I tried to stop her—"

"But she really wanted to use the grinder?" Astrid finishes in a fake drawl and Hiccup laughs.

"She couldn't be convinced," he laments jokingly and she rolls her eyes.

"Besides the fire, nothing exciting?" She asks with a laugh and he shrugs.

"Relaxing and uneventful," he grins and gets in a few more bites of dessert before she finishes it off, scraping the plate too loudly with the side of her spoon. When she's satisfied with the cleanliness of the plate, she turns back to Hiccup, her foot resuming stroking along his calf. He coughs and she looks at his baffled but happy expression, smiling to herself.

She really never thought she'd get such a bang out of _touching_ someone.

Just touching. Nothing dirty or scandalous, just running her fingers over his shoulders when she walks by, or playing with his hair when he puts his head in her lap while they watch TV. There's something powerful and warm about the way he never fails to lean into the small touches, and shy away from the big ones, like he's still trying to be polite.

Polite is the best change.

"At this point, uneventful is phenomenal," she grins feeling wonderfully flushed as she reaches across the table and plays with the edge of his sleeve, gently brushing against the electric tendons of his wrist.

"I've had enough exciting for a while," he agrees, staring at the miracle of her hand smoothing over his.

He doesn't even know how long this relationship seemed impossible. Sometimes he'll wake up in the morning to her shaking his shoulder like a human alarm clock and be absolutely _sure_ that he's dreaming. But three months is an eternity, and he's so genuinely happy that counting barely seems necessary.

He'd like to think that why guys are constantly getting a reputation for forgetting anniversaries. They're so happy that they lose the urge to keep track.

Well, some guys.

"What do you say to getting out of here pretty soon?" Astrid suggests, staring at the tributaries of bluish veins winding across the back of his hand.

"What? You don't want to not let me have any of 3 or 4 more desserts?" He jokes and she thwacks him on the forearm with an amicable glare.

"No, I want to get to bed," she yawns at her own suggestion and Hiccup blushes at the unnoticed implication.

Not that they've…done it. He's not even really expecting to do it, or maybe he's just dreading his imminent failure.

Honestly, he's happy that he gets to kiss her, and hold her hand, and talk to her. He's never felt so remarkably in tune with someone other than Toothless, and even there, the language barrier eventually becomes somewhat of an issue. Imagining someone responding in the way he hoped is nowhere near as good as when the last person he ever expected retorts in a way he'd only ever wished to hear.

He and Astrid…well, they couldn't be further from each other some of the time, but there's harmony in their differences, like bass and treble winding and thumping in time.

Or it's like they're sine and cosine. Same wavelength, same period, echoing each other in well-oiled cycles, just out of phase enough to keep it interesting.

Not that the physical aspects aren't nice or important. They make out more than anyone should really need to. On the couch, in the back seat of her car before practice, against her bedroom doorframe when she's saying good night.

And there was that one time he caught her walking back from the shower in her towel. He pressed her up against the bathroom door and left three painfully obvious hickeys along her sharp collar bone. He'll never be able to forget the fantastic suggestion of _softness_ beneath the terrycloth, and the way her bitten rough fingernails scrabbled against his shoulder while she tried and failed to chew him out, panting against the top of his head.

"…cup? Hiccup, are you in there?" Astrid asks jokingly, flicking the back of his hand as he stares off into space, flushed and miles away.

"Present," he mumbles and she smiles, yawning again in spite of herself.

"Then did you hear me?"

"Hear you what?" He asks, glancing down in spite of himself to that collarbone. He swallows a mouthful of drool he doesn't really remember producing.

"I'm tired?" She asks reaching across the table and putting her hand on his forehead like she's testing for a fever. "And if you don't have any other grand date plans, I'd kind of like to head home." She grins, and he shakes her hand off.

"Right, I do remember that," he smiles and looks meaningfully across the restaurant at the waiter who gets the hint to bring the check.

"Are you ok?" Astrid asks, leaning back slightly and trying to restrain the discomfort that wells in her stomach when Hiccup puts his debit card with the check.

No matter how many times he insists on paying, it still makes her feel like a _commodity_.

"I'm fine," he laughs to himself. "I was just thinking about…" the discomfort grows temporarily as his eyes flick down and back to her face. She frowns and crosses her arms, sliding out of her side of the booth and standing, tottering slightly in the heels she's grown unaccustomed to.

Suddenly, this is all so remarkably and overwhelmingly familiar.

She remembers dating Scott, in the beginning, when he was focused on being _impressive_. She remembers feeling far too dressed up in the back seat of Scott's mom's SUV as she drove them to Macaroni Grill. She remembers learning about the mechanics of dating.

Date in…reciprocation out.

Rinse and repeat.

God, is this how it's going to happen? Is this when Hiccup is suddenly going to act like a _guy_?

"Ready to go?" She callously reaches down and snags the car keys from his suit jacket pocket.

"I kind of have to wait until they bring my card back…" he reminds her, furrowing his eyebrows. "Are you ok?"

"I'm fine," she shrugs, the concern in his voice toning down her panic at least momentarily.

"I promise we don't ever have to go on a date again," he laughs miserably and she sighs, suddenly feeling impossibly strange for acting this way.

"We can go on more dates. This was seriously fun."

"Oh? So fun you can't wait to leave?"

"This is all very _smooth_, you know?" She asks awkwardly, crossing her arms and pretending not to notice the waiter who sets the card back on the table between them. Hiccup pockets it and stands with a slight bobble. Astrid bends down and picks up her jacket, tugging it over her shoulders and feeling the exact opposite of smooth.

"I can honestly say you've never called me that one before," he jokes, and is suddenly incomparably Hiccup. She grins.

"I think this is the first time it's happened."

"What, you don't like smooth?" He asks and she shrugs.

"I guess I like…this better," she gestures and he shakes his head.

"And the gesturing to all of me. Come on, you must actually be tired, let's go." He leads the way towards the front of the restaurant, and she follows, compulsively reaching forward and grabbing his hand.

It's still disheartening when Astrid climbs into the drivers' seat, perennially against him driving when she's there. He stretches out in the passenger seat, glancing sidelong at her profile and smiling to himself. She bites her lip and backs out of the spot carefully, glaring at him as she shifts into drive.

"You're staring."

"You're pretty," he shrugs and she can't help but smile.

"Thanks for the date," she submits awkwardly, pulling onto the freeway and risking a glance in his direction.

Sometimes, she still expects to see the Hiccup who befriended her, skinny, two-legged and almost handsome. Other times, the image of him emaciated and struggling is permanent in her mind.

When she lets herself _look_ at him, really look, his transformation is almost always shocking. In her mind's eye he's just _Hiccup_, goofy and gangly. He loves her, and that's what she focuses on. But sometimes, when he walks around in his boxers or stretches out in an almost ill-fitting suit on the way home from a date, she can't believe that her first impression hadn't been something along the lines of attraction.

Maybe she was too used to _perfection_. Too used to glitter and gloss to notice the allure of granite bedrock. She chose perilous status over steady happiness, and it shielded any sort of wayward magnetism.

She wonders if it's going to convey the wrong message if when they get home, she curls up in bed with him instead of across the hall. Or is that going to seem like an invitation? Given that he just paid for a date and everything.

She's not exactly sure why she doesn't want to _invite _him, it shouldn't be a big deal, should it? Nothing new, nothing she hasn't done before.

Anyway, she's just tired. She doesn't want to think about that.

"Thanks for going on a date," Hiccup responds after a moment and she shrugs. "Then again I didn't exactly have to pull your leg."

"Oh shut up," she grins and shakes her head.

The remainder of the drive home is peaceful and Astrid pulls the SUV into the garage with a grateful yawn, stretching in her seat before climbing out and waiting by the hood of the car for Hiccup. He rolls his eyes, internally grateful at her ready to help positioning as he clicks inside, unusually conspicuous on the concrete of the garage floor.

He's getting used to the foot, as miraculous as that is.

It still hits him every morning, when he tugs on his sock and buckles the newest prototype to his knee. His therapist and prosthesist insist that this is normal, and that someday, probably sooner rather than later, he'll wake up and get ready without lamenting his foot's absence, and the empty space will be a simple part of him.

"Oh hi!" Astrid greets Spike as she walks inside, tottering back on her heels under the onslaught of rough canine love. Toothless trots over and pushes past Astrid to lick Hiccup's hands, wagging asymmetrically. "Ok, ok…love you too," Astrid pushes the pitbull off of her with a laugh, clacking past her on impractical stilts to sit on the couch, bending down to pull off her heels and stretch her toes. The seat is impossibly comfortable and she leans back, lazily petting Spike's ears as the dog sits on her feet.

"Thought you were going to bed," Hiccup comments as she tugs a pillow onto her lap, resting her chin on it and relaxing.

"But now I'm comfortable," she complains, idly patting the cushion next to her. "Movie?"

"You're not going to stay awake for a movie."

"Nope," she grins as he sits and turns on the TV. "You can take off the suit jacket if you want."

"I feel classy," he laughs before following her advice and wiggling out of the too tight sport coat and tossing it onto the chair across the room. Astrid's jacket joins it as she curls into his side, warmly resting her temple against his shoulder. "What movie do you want to watch?" He asks, picking up the remote. She shrugs and presses closer to him.

"Are you wearing cologne?" She inhales experimentally and her hand finds its way to his good knee, thumb stroking over the unusually smooth fabric of his slacks.

"Erm…"

"Who taught you how to date?" She laughs awkwardly, looking up at him.

"I don't know, no one?" He flushes, and it's not even a decision when she's kissing him.

He must _know_ what he does.

He's completely ridiculous, so cute and gangly and _nice_. It's confusing and overwhelming and persistently intriguing, even after three months of kissing him whenever she wants.

She should be determined to sleep. Even now, with his lips as physical caffeine, she can't help but feel her fatigued muscles and overwhelmed, exhausted mind. His hand cups the back of her neck and she gasps into his mouth, sucking his lower lip in between her teeth and letting her hands slide up his subtle chest to cling at his shoulders.

She definitely doesn't want to pivot and sit across his lap, it's just something that happens. Her arms wrap around his neck and his hands slide from her knees to the smooth curve of her lower back. The way her skirt rides up her thighs is terrifying and she holds him close.

"Aren't you going to start a movie?" She pulls back impossibly briefly, posing the bizarre question before diving back in, her tongue tangling eagerly with his.

"You aren't really—urf," he gently pushes her back with thumbs hooked in front of her narrow strong waist. "As I was saying—ow," her fist connects jovially with his bicep as he reluctantly holds her back, laughing, "You aren't really making it easy to start a movie."

"It's fine," she mumbles, cutting him off with a distracting kiss. He pulls back with a laugh she feels vibrating against her lips. "What?"

"Nothing," he says quietly, and looks at her the way all girls want to be looked at, wide green eyes a laser to her very core.

"You're being distracting," she insults scooting more solidly onto his lap as her fingers latch onto his collar, thumbing the crisp cotton.

"Being distracted is fine, it's not like there's anything we have to do." The openness is terrifying, impossible horizons stretching out in unimaginable directions. Hiccup shifts, wincing as his tailbone takes more pressure than it's used to. It's really not comfortable, but he'd have to be a complete idiot to kick Astrid off of his lap.

"Well, I have to check my e-mail before bed," she supplies weakly and Hiccup laughs, his hands sliding down to rest on her hips. She bites her lip and fidgets.

"So busy…" He tugs her closer, voice positively smoky. He pecks her on the lips and her arm wrap around his neck without her consent. Her free hand fists in the front of his shirt, holding him captive.

"I really should…something," she trails off, burning warmth curious in the pit of her stomach as his lips find the line of her jaw, tongue flicking against the rise of bone.

"Something," he mumbles, slightly drunk with the sweet-smelling, baby fine arm hairs tickling the back of his neck.

She nudges his chin, shoving her tongue in his mouth and tangling it with his, entrancing and imprisoning. Even now, months into this storybook rollercoaster, his confidence is fantastically fluid, surging around like a fickle tide. It stretches into his fingertips, and his hand rubs up her thigh, inching away from her knee as she gasps into his mouth, tugging him closer. His mouth takes over, nipping her lower lip while his other hand slides shyly between her shoulder blades.

"You're…" She tugs herself closer, her knees bumping against his hips with absolutely electrifying contact. His hand slides over the hem of her skirt, hot on her silken thigh. He dares to squeeze lightly, and she gasps, torn between elated terror and falling into the waves of heat radiating from her core. "Distracting…" A hand tentatively slides down around her ass, glancing over the curve with finicky contact and she jolts forward, heart racing. Her hand tugs him closer until she has to pull back for horribly required oxygen, and his lips latch onto the column of her neck, nipping just enough.

"And you're totally innocent," he clarifies, painfully _warm_. She laughs, voice uncharacteristically gravelly as she reclaims his mouth, settling her hips down against him and wonderfully assaulting his senses.

She has to know what she does. She has to know how completely…overwhelming she is.

It's not even really a conscious decision when his hand slides down from the nape of her neck, slipping under the back of her dress. He's throbbing like a wound, every twitch dragging him down a path he'd been at least subconsciously avoiding. Somehow, even her shoulder blades are _hot_ and she exhales, breath panicked against his cheeks.

Hiccup moving her clothes is definitely new, but not entirely horrible and she slows her lips, mulling over the development. Half of her knows it's because of the _date_, the unsigned, unwritten contract that bonded her into this physicality. But…well, she can't say that she's not enjoying the feeling of his fingertips dancing across the sensitive skin stretched over her spine. Goosebumps break out across her ribs as gentle fingers trace down, sliding beneath the clasp of her bra and resting against the intimate patch of skin.

She freezes and her lips pull away from his with a wet pop.

That feels…she is...

Her stomach churns ominously.

"It's too warm in here," she announces, out of breath as the pit of her stomach throbs ominously. Hiccup frowns, his hand sliding out her clothes as she lets go of his now tremendously wrinkled shirt. Her eyes are wrong, clouded like when her father texted her on Christmas.

"Sorry," he mumbles, and she climbs off his lap, sitting on the couch next to him. She fiddles with her skirt, smoothing it near obsessively and tugging it down to her knees, wiping a palm over her forehead and busying herself with checking her hair for split ends. It's horribly vapid and she groans in quiet frustration. "You ok?" Everything is calming down at an alarming rate and he shifts, tent in his pants chilled and awkward.

What? He's 18, it happens, he can't…help it.

He shudders, the poignant physical memory of lace against his fingertips momentarily overwhelming.

"Fine," she fidgets, flinching away as her thigh bumps scaldingly against his. "Stop twitching," she snaps, pushing her bangs irritably away from her face. "Why are you so—" She catches a glimpse of his _situation_ out of the corner of his eyes and smirks, clouding eyes unkind. "Nice."

"Well," he crosses his legs, hunching forward and grabbing his cold laptop off of the coffee table, pulling it over his lap. When she finally said something about his _problem_, he was hoping it wouldn't be quite so _disdainful_. "What exactly do you expect to happen?" She sneers and he recognizes a sliver of the wide eyed girl who glared at a cast all those months ago, practically on a different planet.

Sometimes it's like _Astrid Hofferson _is a third person in their relationship, interjecting at the worst possible times and laughing victoriously at their failures.

"I don't know," she shrugs, feeling unusually out of control. She doesn't spin out the same way anymore, and she hasn't missed the hectic feeling. "Not _that_."

"It's not a _gnome_, it just—"

"Look, Hiccup. I love you. I just don't think of you _that_ way."

Silence.

Toothless whines and Spike's tail thumps nervously against the floor.

Astrid shrugs violently, guilt swirling in her stomach as she glares at the wall, daring it to collapse in on them and end whatever this moment is.

Hiccup swallows.

Astrid doesn't mean it in a horrible way. She just…she loves kissing Hiccup. She loves holding his skinny solid shoulders, and catching his too dazzling eyes following her.

Sex is…it's always been a tool, a crutch, a…punishment, bereft of feeling, calculating and useful. Scott always said he needed it. It would suddenly be her fault if he lost a game or failed yet another test and she hadn't given him what he wanted.

It's a prop, a substitute for the raw emotions that she never had a use for before Hiccup.

Now, she's in a constant fluctuation, embracing warm, rushing, tingling, happy emotions in turn. The way he kisses her, it makes her ache, makes her want to fly. He's the anti-sex, and that's one of his best qualities.

She wishes he'd say something.

And now his…interest is finally stepping into the middle of everything wonderful that they have. Obviously, she knows it's a _reaction_, physical and unintentional. Of course she's felt it before, it jabs her in the back almost every morning she wakes up with him. She's grown to like the warmth during too heated make outs, inspiring a mirrored physical response.

_Physical response_, she sounds like Hiccup.

She glances at him out of the corner of her eye. He's staring at her like she just kicked Toothless, expression vacant and churning.

"Hiccup?" She asks and he snaps out of the trance, eyes flashing angrily like she's never seen before.

"Oh." He snarks, sarcasm like a mudslide over his words. "Oh, you don't think of me like _that_."

"I just haven't thought of it."

"So you've been with me for months, and you _love_ me, but you haven't thought about _it_?" He snaps, "But you know, you having sex with Scottwas common knowledge." He laughs bitterly, standing with his laptop under his arm. "You practically rented a billboard to broadcast it to interstate traffic."

"What's your problem?" She crosses her arms across her chest, fingernails digging into her ribs with piercing pain.

"So I'm not supposed to have a problem? Alright, no fucking problem." He subconsciously tries to tap feeling back into his left foot, cringing at the clanking on the hardwood.

"I don't know, why would I possibly think you had a problem?" She quips, shrugging near violently. "Maybe that insanely low blow."

"So it's a low blow to notice that you only have sex with people who aren't me?" The plural stings like salt on internal wounds, and even when furious, Hiccup can't take the way her eyes falter. "Look, I'm so—"

"Leave me alone," she stands, dodging around him in an attempt to storm off. He steps in her way and she reels backwards, fists clenching.

She should just punch him, but that seems impossible. Her fist on his arm might tear her apart.

"So you're allowed to say stuff like that, but I'm not allowed to get mad?" He can't quite decide what to do with his hands. Why doesn't he let her leave? She obviously doesn't want to…to…

"Stuff like what?" She asks, faking cluelessness. Hiccup snaps, roaring.

"Stuff like saying you don't want me!"

"I…I love you," she defends, clutching at the sides of her head, dizziness plaguing her brain.

"Sure feels like it!"

"Urgh, what do you want from me?" She shoves past him, throwing her shoulder against his with enough force to send him stumbling backwards as she stomps to her room, loudly slamming the door. She hates herself when Spike whimpers from the hallway and she ignores the sound, punching her mattress furiously.

Goddammit. Who the fuck—what is—Urgh!

She could kill him when she hears Hiccup's quiet voice summon Spike and Toothless to his room and shut the door. Now he's taking her dog?

That utter _asshole_. That is her dog.

She has half a mind to run over there and…and…and…

Her hand freezes on the doorknob before groans, kicking the bottom of the door in a frantic tantrum.

It's absolutely miraculous that she doesn't break anything valuable in the next twenty minutes.

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**Disclaimer: Remember you guys, this all takes place between chapters 37 and 38 of Chasing Thunderstorms. You all know how this ends, eventually, so it's all going to be ok! I promise!**

**Ok, y'all I know this is rough. I know. **

**It's here because I saw Chernobyl waiting to happen in these characters. So Chernobyl here we come. **

**I'd really really love to know what you guys think, even if it's hating me, which I will completely understand. Any feedback anyone has would be so far beyond appreciated, and I'm going to at least attempt to keep up on responding to reviews here…as long as they're thoughtful. I can never figure out how to respond to the 'Update Soon.'**

**Also, this ended up being…well, really freaking long. I've got 115,000 words on the backburner here, so I'm going to up my updating speed to thrice weekly. **

**This means I'll see you guys with chapter two on Monday! **


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **

**This story could possibly be a trigger for anyone dealing with PTSD due to abuse, and anyone uncomfortable with these topics should reconsider reading. **

**With that being said, I hope you'll all keep reading! **

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Astrid stomps irritated laps at the base of her bed, still in her fancy, silky dress as she tries to self-justify her indignance.

He tried—Urg.

He is the _boyfriend_, and it has been four months. Scott didn't even give her four months, and they were both virgins.

Does the number of dates rule apply?

What is the number of dates rule?

She hates feeling clueless.

The pop culture magic number always seems like three, but what even constitutes a date?

If you count watching a movie together at home, or anything to do with a hospital, then they must be in the hundreds by now. But if it involves restaurants and planning, tonight was their _first_.

Unless she's supposed to count carving pumpkins, which she still refuses to do, because that was sneaky and ridiculous.

Her heart twinges just remembering it.

She knows, rationally, that it's ridiculous to be upset. It was just so hot and nervous and…and…Hiccup is an eighteen year-old boy, and his interest isn't exactly shocking. She'd be lying if she said she wasn't at least _hoping_ he wouldn't want _it_.

At least not so soon.

She's spent months dreading him acting like a dude, and when he does, she can't even really justify being mad at him for it.

Not that she's not furious, because she's absolutely enraged.

She's just not quite sure where she means to aim the emotion.

Why is it a big deal, anyway?

She should just go fuck him and get it over with.

It almost scares her to know that if she does that, fucking will probably become a regular thing, but she squelches the thought, grinding her teeth.

He's a virgin, it's not like it'd even be a big time commitment at first. Somehow though, opening that door seems like starting a descent down a long and winding spiral to their doom.

If she and Hiccup fuck, are they still…the same?

Will hugging him still be good? Will his kisses start to be a burden? Will waking up with him still be _nice_? Or will everything collapse into that fucking dance of pursuit and careful avoidance?

But if she doesn't fuck him…

Something already feels…stressed, near broken in the tension between them. The hallway is a canyon and…and…

God, they've never even argued.

Well, not really.

Sure, she _yells_, and he bickers and they snip at each other. But it's only when they're tired or stressed, and there's always that undercurrent of love and understanding, the implied reluctance to say anything too hurtful.

She feels lonely in empathy's absence.

What if she thinks about _it_? Maybe it was just something that she had not yet gotten around to yet. Maybe imagining it will get the ball rolling, in either direction.

She tries to picture Hiccup naked, and gets stuck, infuriated by her remarkably stubborn lack of imagination. She can envision every sparse hair sprinkled down his skinny stomach, but any further and her mind goes frustratingly blank.

Well, she's not _scared_ to go settle this.

Her main emotion is anger when she throws her dress over her head, marching down the hall and knocking on his bedroom door. She hears him shift, then still and an irritable sigh tears from her throat. She feels oddly vulnerable in her bra and underwear in the hallway.

"I can year you in there," she groans, rapping her fist against the door in a rapid unsettling staccato. She swallows a heavy ball of something that feels like dread and knocks harder.

"Congratulations. You haven't gone deaf in the last half hour," Hiccup's nasal sarcasm drifts through the door and she snarls.

"Let me in," she tries and fails not to sound wildly malicious.

"Why?" He asks, and his pained tone makes her stomach churn.

"I'm in my underwear," she tempts tonelessly, and she hears him clear his throat.

"What?"

"You heard me," she wiggles her toes in the plush carpet, impossibly awkward. Does Hiccup exude an aura of incompetence or something? Why is she so…stilted. She juts her chest forward before slouching, dragging her palm down the door with a squeak. "Come on, just let me in. It's cold out here," she flirts with a flat tone.

"What are you doing, Astrid?" He asks, sounding exhausted.

"Just let me in—" She reaches down to rattle the surely locked doorknob, and the door opens easily. She flushes in spite of herself, nearly falling forward. "Oh, it was unlocked this whole time?" The question sounds like a projection of embarrassment and irritation.

Hiccup's anger freezes solid for an imperceptible moment as he realizes she is in fact, in her underwear. Obviously her _nice_ underwear too.

She wasn't lying when she said she was _cold_.

He coughs, and forces his frown back into place, stubbornly staring at the wall in front of him.

Gah, is that bra see through? Either that's the most suggestive pattern known to man, or he can see—

No.

She's not winning this fight by being naked. She said she didn't _want_ him.

The ache rushes back full force and he chews painfully on the inside of his cheek.

"Obviously," he mumbles. She steps inside and shuts the door behind her, lingering by the doorway.

"Where's Toothless?" She asks, "and Spike, she was in here, wasn't she?" It's nearly impossible to resist the urge to cross her arms over her bare _self_.

"Yeah, Spike was in here," he sounds malicious and she smoothes an anxious hand over her stomach. She can't tell whether she wants to him to stare or disappear. He's seen her in a swimsuit, she has no reason to be _nervous_ of all things.

It's just fucking.

"And Toothless?"

"He got tired of all the sulking and went to lie out on the couch," he says pointedly and Astrid scowls.

"I'm tired of sulking too," she spits, and Hiccup frowns, his eyes wandering to her and getting stuck. His heart rate picks up and he flushes…that is…nice.

She's fighting so dirty.

Oh god, _dirty_ is the wrong word. He crosses his legs and forces his eyes back to the wall.

"Then go do something, this is still the home base of sulking," he snarks and she takes a couple of slow steps towards him.

Why hasn't he done anything yet? She's standing in front of him mostly naked, and he's not even looking at her. She cocks her hip, frowning when he doesn't glance her way.

"You're right," she grits through her teeth, momentarily _winning_ when he glances at her face.

"Call the media," she wants to hit him, but the space stretches in front of her like a canyon and she settles for snarling. She stomps indignantly, and apparently he finds her worth talking to again. "What am I right about, anyway?"

"We should fuck," she states callously, drawing malicious pleasure from his reactionary flush.

The control is familiar and she can't help but grin, letting salacious words flow to the tip of her tongue.

"That's not—that's not even what I was trying," he assures her, still bitter, and she rolls her eyes. Parts of him like the idea far too much and he hates the physical betrayal.

He gets to be _mad_.

"Well, we should. It's been four months, it's about time," she shrugs, forcing herself to be nonchalant.

She's never felt less nonchalant.

"I didn't realize we were on a schedule," he snips and she rolls her eyes, stepping closer and edging around the foot of his bed into his ever shrinking field of vision.

"We aren't. I'm just saying that it makes sense if you want to."

"Oh. It makes _sense_." He repeats, rolling his eyes and avoiding looking at her.

"What?" She snips, playing nervously with the skin of her elbow.

"_What_?"

"Stop repeating me sarcastically!" Why is she even here? Why is she even still trying?

What's his problem?

"You're already telling me what to do, excuse me for thinking you'd want to tell me what to say too."

"That's it," she snaps, jumping onto the bed and slugging him in the ribs, knocking him sideways on the bed. "You can't talk to me like that!" She aims her next punch at his arm and he flails and catches her fist, grip surprisingly strong. She yanks her fist back, and he doesn't let go.

Astrid definitely wasn't intending to land on top of him, fist still encased in his hand. She struggles, suddenly frantic as she feels trapped.

"Let me go!"

"So you can punch me again?" He's not exactly sure what he's doing when he struggles to spin her around, bracing her shoulders against his chest and sitting up. It'd be easy to push her off of the bed from here, and chances are she'd land on her feet, but _something_ stops him. Something warm and soft and under his hands.

His grip tightens without his consent and she gasps, bowing against him like a coiled spring.

"Let me go." Astrid mumbles, too quiet as his warm hand on her chest sends her heart into frantic palpitations.

"I don't—You're going to punch me again," his voice is low and husky, taken over by some vestige of masculinity not drowned by embarrassment and hurt.

"I'm not going to punch you. Let me go." A mysterious tear runs down her cheek, salty on the corner of her lips as she pants, bucking against him and springing to her feet. Half of her misses the undeniably pleasant warmth of his arm across her chest.

The other half turns a sob into a snarl and she's suddenly not sure what to do with her hands. She wants to cover herself and slap him and grab him all at once and it's overwhelming.

"You should get dressed," he averts his eyes from her blissfully nearly nude form.

"I-I came here to have sex with you." She says, quiet and callus as her hand lands nearly fraternally on his shoulder. She grits her teeth and plants her knee on the bed beside his legs. Her still straight leg brushes against the denim of his jeans and she breaks out into head to toe goose-bumps.

Hiccup's eyes widen and he scoots back away from her, equal parts terrified and…well, only an idiot could be anything but interested with a half-naked Astrid this close to them. She clambers onto the bed after him, hands anchored on his shoulders, hissing as her bare legs come into contact with his thighs.

Her hands fist subconsciously in the shoulders of his shirt as her eyes widen, confused and entirely too warm.

Her heel nudges against cool steel and he's suddenly so utterly Hiccup that she kisses him, shoving her tongue nearly violently into his mouth.

It's the most miserable, proudest moment of his life when he remembers the indignance, and builds the gall to shove her face away, focusing on prying her hands away from his shirt. She sits back, hovering above his knees, arms crossed and confused.

"You said you didn't want me," he reminds her, trying to be stern, and she rolls her eyes.

"That's beside the point."

This time when the world spins out of focus, it's muted and controlled. More like failing a test than jumping out of a plane.

"So it's not like you had some drastic change of heart, and suddenly want to have sex with me…" Hiccup affirms, smacking her wandering hand off of its obviously southward path, flushing crimson. "You're just here because you're _supposed _to be."

"It's been four months Hiccup, we're going to have sex at some point."

"And you sound _so_ excited about that."

"It's not exciting!" She assures him, leaning over him and trying not to hate how vulnerable she feels. "It's just sex, I know you're a virgin, and it's seriously not a big deal. It's just what you do—"

"You know Astrid, you don't think a six minute mile is a big deal either, but I'm not going to go run one."

"Come on, don't you want to have sex with me?" She asks, taking full advantage of the power that she _knows_ she has as she leans down, brushing her chest against his with an uncomfortable pang in her stomach.

Is the heater on? Is the thermostat set to eighty degrees?

"I'm a little more concerned about you wanting to have sex with me." He admits, clinging to anger with every last thread of his brain. God, those are barely even underwear. Do those count as underwear?

Is that a job? Deciding what counts as underwear?

Are they hiring?

Not for him, for Astrid, obviously. She has the perfect frame for deciding whether something is considered underwear or not.

"Again, that's beside the point," she grumbles, grabbing his hand and moving it towards her chest. His fingers glance the lace cup of her bra and twitch forward, warm and strange on her skin. The room is suddenly too small and she grimaces, shoving his hand away. "And I don't like that."

"So you're in here to have sex with me, but I'm not allowed to touch you?" He asks strangely, his mind drugged with expanses of sweet golden skin and feelings he should be avoiding.

She doesn't want him.

She's half naked and on top of him, and so wonderfully, overwhelmingly warm.

She doesn't want him.

She said it in plain words that she still doesn't want him.

God, he almost _touched _her.

"You don't need to touch me to fuck me," she purrs awkwardly, her teeth feeling clumsy in her mouth. He braces careful hands on her shoulders and pushes her away, trying and failing again to scoot out from underneath her.

"Can you not say it that way?" He hedges and she pouts, expression tentatively predatory as her hand roughly jerks at his belt buckle.

"Say it what way?" She asks, strategically fiddling with his belt. He pushes her hand away and it dives back, anxiously determined.

"You said you didn't want me," he reiterates quietly and she swallows, her throat thick and confused. She can hear her own breathing echoing in her ears like pounding drums.

"You keep bringing that up."

"It was kind of important, you know," he mumbles, skittering away from his half-naked girlfriend like he didn't even think was possible. "The whole admitting you've never been attracted to me—"

"Of course I find you attractive."

Not when she's this naked. He seems larger, more menacing than real life.

It sounds like she's lying, and even with the broad shoulders of the truth glaring her in the face, she's unsure.

If he were ugly, would this be easier?

If he were plain and pretty like Scott, or stupid, would this make more sense? Would it be clearer cut?

If she didn't like him so much, could she reduce her plane of thought to his dick and nothing more?

She doesn't want them to end, she doesn't want to cease feeling real, doesn't want to go back to cardboard after a life in canvas and vibrant oil paints.

"But you don't want me?" He reaffirms, confusing settling into its twin spot with misery.

"Can we not talk about it?" She asks, reaching behind her in a way that's trying—and succeeding—so desperately to be hot. She fiddles with her bra clasp and his eyes widen.

He gulps.

She blinks and glances down at her toes that are too cold, moving away from the steel of his fake foot.

His eyes widen and he stiffens like a lifeless plank beneath her.

"This is about my leg, isn't it?"

"What?" Astrid asks, taken aback.

She was too busy focusing on the fact that she's almost naked and he's about to be naked to even think about the total inconsequence that is his leg.

"It's about—Oh, wow, that makes so much sense," he grumbles, the world imperceptibly still and quiet behind the curtains of blood rushing through his ears, drowning out everything but the clicking together of an hours old puzzle.

Scott was…hot.

Even as a perfectly straight guy, Hiccup can admit that Scott Nout looks like an underwear model. Sure, he's dumb as a post, and a complete asshole, but that's what Astrid is used to. That's what she wants.

And if his scrawny, unappealing body weren't enough of a deterrent, he has to have the hideously deformed _stump_ marring the end of his left leg.

Going from a 10 to a 5 is possible, and proven by the last few months.

Can he really blame her for not wanting to downgrade to three quarters of a man?

It's…it would have been impossible to really _do_ this, right?

God, it's not…he shouldn't…

"Me trying to have sex with you has nothing to do with your leg," she assures him acridly, reaching back down jerking on his belt, utterly unsure of why her hands are shaking.

It's just fucking, and she's sure Hiccup isn't packing anything she hasn't seen before.

"Get off of me," he snaps, shoving on her hips harder than she knew he could. She falls onto the bed, smacking the ball bone of her ankle on the steel of his left foot.

"Ow! Shit," she exclaims as her foot goes entirely tingly, prickling ferociously. "What's your problem?"

"I don't need your pity!" he blurts, scuttling back to sit against the bedframe. Astrid nurses her ankle, smoothing her fingers over her obviously forming bruise.

"I'm not pitying you!" She rolls off of the bed, strangely relieved over her anger as she flings her arms wide. "But I have to say you're absolutely brilliant at rejection!"

The rejection should sting, she remembers when he didn't kiss her back and she thought the world might fling off of its axis.

It's a relief to snatch a dirty tee-shirt off of his almost tidy floor and tug it over her head, covering herself. It smells like Hiccup, and that fact is so overwhelmingly comforting that she thinks she might puke.

"I'm not the one rejecting you!" He tucks his prosthetic under him, the sharp edge digging into his tailbone with blunt, bruising honesty.

He's not _whole_.

He's done pretending.

"Last time I checked, getting naked and climbing on top of you isn't exactly the definition of rejection, Hiccup."

"Whatever," he grumbles, looking anywhere but her shaking, fired up radiance. "You said you didn't want me, Astrid."

He never had a real shot.

"Wanting you has nothing to do with sex!" She stomps, feeling childish and out of control. She wants to hit him, but that'd make everything so much worse.

"Astrid, wanting me has everything to do with sex!" Hearing something that makes sense but doesn't is enough to send the entire world off kilter. She should want him. She should want to want him.

Why does she feel this way?

This doesn't make sense.

She was so normal before Hiccup, so overwhelmingly normal. Normal friends, normal boyfriend, normal extra-curricular activities. Normal everything until she went home—

"That's your opinion."

"You wouldn't let me touch you," He insists, "in fact you acted pretty disgusted—"

"Well, why would you even _want_ to touch me?" She turns the tables, only scarcely believing her own audacity. "It's just sex."

"You forget, I don't have your _infinite_ experience—"

"Right, because I'm so promiscuous, Hiccup! Two isn't the highest number in the world—"

"Two what?" He stops her, voice quieting curiously.

"My number is only two higher than your big fat zero, that's not exactly—"

"Who besides Scott?" Hiccup asks.

Astrid's stomach drops to her feet and goose bumps assault her skin as she trembles, fists balling.

"None of your business."

"Yeah, because apparently having sex with you is none of my business," he sneers, suddenly _mean_, and a misplaced tear flows down Astrid's cheek. She wipes it away near violently, the blood blooming under her skin a welcomed distraction from the roiling emotions in her brain.

"Apparently not." She spits, voice low in her throat as she whirls, storming out into the hallway and back to her room.

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Is she promiscuous?

Is that really who she is?

Is that why Scott was interested?

She was fourteen, she didn't know what she was doing. And it turned out flirting was easy, too easy. Easy enough that she had him blushing and asking her out in a month.

Kissing was easy.

Is she a crappy kisser? Is that the problem here?

She's only ever kissed Scott, and there was the peck on the lips during spin the bottle in seventh grade, but who really counts that.

It's not like Hiccup knows any better than she does. God, he's only a step behind her, really.

And then everyone else was interested in her because Scott was, and it was a sprint up social Everest. Right?

She knows that Scott was all about locker room talk, the football team is probably _still_ salivating over unrealistic stories involving her being naked. But no one thought those were true, did they? It's obvious just looking at her that she's not packing D-cups, and that she's more _skinny_ than anything.

But she likes looking capable, likes the world knowing what she can run and do. She likes that people are afraid of her, and that she can keep people at a distance with nothing more than an overtly clenched fist.

But she let Hiccup in.

And her dad forced his way in.

She shoves that particular thought from her mind, shaking her head and burying her face in the pillow. It's uncomfortable. She's uncomfortable.

She's cold.

A large part of her wants to climb into bed with Hiccup. Even Spike curled by her feet is like a drop of warmth in a bucket of frigid misery.

Hiccup's probably warm, wonderfully warm spooned around Toothless. The wolf wouldn't mind her wiggling in between them, arm over his furry shoulder and Hiccup's big hand resting on her waist.

She does like him touching her, really.

She likes it, it's just confusing.

Sure, when she did stuff with Scott, sometimes it felt good, but never on purpose. That was never the intention.

And yeah, the first few times were different, she was young, and thought she was in love. But things change, and reality takes over, and it became monotony.

Hiccup is just as clueless as she used to be. He doesn't get that all those romance movies and porn and all of that are wrong. It's just a physical thing, entirely a physical necessity for him, that she undertakes as his girlfriend.

He should be grateful that she's willing to do him, even though it's going to ruin every facet of their relationship that she loves. She's going to miss kissing him, and cuddling him, and taking walks with the dogs. Hell, she'll miss people-watching in hospital waiting rooms, guessing what people did to get hurt.

She already misses his voice, she misses the way that even his eyes smiled when he looked at her. She misses his careful hands on her back while she kissed him.

That's insane of course.

She saw him yesterday…it's only 3 am, so they were fighting barely four hours ago.

It's not like they broke up, right? Breaking up requires the words 'over' or 'dump.' It's not something that can just materialize out of some cruel words and take her life in its hands.

Hell, she loves him and she _still_ tried to have sex with him, that's got to mean something. She's never considered something rash like that before.

She guesses that it shouldn't have taken her by surprise like it did. Of course he would eventually want to have sex with her. And he's definitely preferable to sex that she's had before. She's sure he'll be a walk in the park, a figurative day off, and it might even be ok. There had been times with Scott that were better than the rest, mostly the sober times, when he didn't go so hard, or so blindingly fast. There were times when she could almost see what everyone talked about on the horizon, looming and confused somewhere deep in the pit of her stomach.

If Hiccup were like that, it'd be ok.

It's the attentiveness that kills her.

She's still got chills remembering the way his eyes traced over her body, even while he was clinging to his righteous indignation. The way he looked at her, sweeping over every freckle, every imperfection, it was blazing. Blazing and terrifying.

God, he was face to face with every flaw, noticing every little thing that kept her from blending in, from staying where she was supposed to be.

She wonders what he thought.

What if he saw the same thing Scott did? The same thing her father eventually saw—

She can't lie here anymore, she might actually go insane.

Astrid rolls out of bed, stumbling to her dresser and fumbling a pair of socks on in the dark room. She shoves her feet into her running shoes and wrangles herself into the comforting compression of a sports bra, forgetting her jacket as she jogs down the hallway in her tee-shirt and flings herself through the front door.

It's barely below freezing, and the cold feels more bracing than anything as she sprints down the driveway, legs churning at the gravel.

Fucking Valentine's Day.

It's always been stupid, always been a day of double whammies. The pre-punishment intending to scare her off of having a boyfriend, followed by the actual boyfriend.

This year was supposed to be different. This year was supposed to be _Hiccup_.

Wonderful and quiet and warm. It was supposed to be calm and empty of appearances for appearance's sake.

And now it's three in the morning, and she's sprinting uphill, face frozen solid with mysterious silent tears streaming down her cheeks. She can't tell whether her hands are numb or whether she's just given up feeling them. Her knee throbs under the thin flannel of her pajama pants as the wind starts cutting through the fabric in earnest.

She should have brought Spike, at least Spike still looks at her like she's the _Astrid_ she wants to be.

She's so confused. Why didn't he want her? Why wasn't it an obvious decision?

The hypocrisy of expecting to be wanted while not doling out the same emotion is lost on her.

It's three thirty when she bursts back inside, seized with fits of shivering in the face of the warm air. Spike greets her, concerned, and she scratches her head with absent numb fingers, stumbling and panting back to her room.

She stops at Hiccup's bedroom door, pressing her ear against the wood.

She can hear Toothless snoring, the sound surprisingly delicate and wheezy. Mostly though, she can hear Hiccup's too hoarse breathing, labored and absolutely awake.

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**OH MY GOD! **

**You guys are amazing. 38 reviews on a first chapter over a weekend? **

**Like seriously. I like it so much, that I got really excited/depressed while studying for finals and threw this thing up nine hours early. We'll see how long this posting schedule works, eh? **

**Also, I'm attempting to respond to reviews on this story! Again, this might not last because I'm going into finals, and that's going to take precedence over review responding. This is already written so it won't mess up my posting though, so have faith! **

**Anyway, I need something to be excited about today, and I would really really really love any feedback that you guys feel like I deserve! **


	3. Chapter 3

**Oh My God. 83 reviews on 2 chapters? **

**Pinch me, give yourselves a slow, long clap before moving forward. **

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Hiccup climbs out of the shower after a long, silent Sunday, tugging a pair of clean boxers over his wet legs, before tucking his crutch under his arm and hobbling over to his bed. It's not worth getting dressed, not with his shut tight door and Toothless' omnipresent warmth.

He would worry about a fire, and running outside into the snow but…well, it's not like he's too worried about whether Astrid's looking or not.

He guesses it's great to live in an era post-shrinkage-anxiety.

He sits on the edge of his mattress with a sigh, stretching his left leg out beside him and critically staring at the stump.

Well, it's definitely not _pretty_, but he didn't think it was so bad until she acted like his fingers _scalded_ her. It's like he's Quasimodo or something.

The creature from the black lagoon.

A smaller King Kong with less game.

He thought he was at least slightly more attractive than that.

A little bit.

He bends his knee, tracing a finger over the goose-pimpled scar at the base of his stump. It's…clinically done. The surgeon was obviously talented. The skin is perfectly aligned, drawn to a neat seam perfectly perpendicular to his knee.

Sometimes, he wishes they'd at least tried to save the foot, even though he's seen the absolutely pulverized x-ray, his smashed arteries. Apparently it looked like someone took to his foot with a mortar and pestle. A mortar and pestle with a couple of tons of force behind it.

When he woke up, he never really _grieved_. It was…well, his head was strange, and that was frankly far more pressing than his leg. He'd never really lived in his body, his brain was always more useful and interesting, and then suddenly, it _wasn't_. It was decidedly smaller, corners cut off at the knees and smoothed for his protection.

And then there was _Astrid_, abruptly present, protecting and holding his hands. And well…she was more important than his leg seemed.

Well, not more important…but definitely more pressing, and more _interesting_.

He remembers being so utterly shocked and happy at her almost open smiles. Every time she sat down next to him and grabbed his hand he felt…whole. Like he'd traded a foot for the other half of himself, and that had seemed ok.

And it really used to be ok. It's not really that cumbersome, or—well, it wasn't so bad because Astrid was helping him.

Since Friday…there's this new litany of 'why me?' rushing through his brain.

Why did he have to get hit by that specific chunk of concrete? Why couldn't it have hit to the right or the left, away from that particular lobe of his brain? Why did he fall the way he did?

3 feet to the right, and he would have been unscathed.

A few weeks ago, when everything was normal, Astrid took it under her advisement to help him with an essay about Jane Eyre. It hit them both in different ways.

She was unapologetically swept away in the romance of it, and completely impervious to the fact that the main character has his bat-shit psycho wife locked away in the attic. He couldn't get over the fact that some forty year old married guy was hitting on the babysitter, and that was ok.

He remembers initially finishing the book, and it seemed oddly perfect. He actually felt like he understood a full length novel, until Astrid edited his rough draft and handed back a paper more red than black and white.

It was obvious to _him_, Rochester lost his hand and eye as punishment for locking up his crazy wife and hitting on the babysitter.

He kept the veritable _novel_ that she wrote on the back of the essay. She said that the climactic injury had nothing to do with punishment. It symbolized pain and loss, and was a physical representation of a badge of honor.

Rochester was the kind of man who would run into a burning building to save his wife, just because it was the right thing to do, and that distinction is something he'll literally wear on his sleeve for eternity.

Then Astrid delved into what his disability meant to Jane, her handwriting rushed and crimped on the side of his paper. She went into the fact that Jane feels indebted, and _lucky_ to help. Lucky to have all that Rochester is, because his manly visage and kind heart has nothing to do with counting appendages.

He helped her, and she helped him.

He remembers asking if Toothless was the crazy wife in this metaphor.

He remembers grinning embarrassed as she kissed him, and the blissful victory of her spooning against him as she crawled under the covers with him that night.

He remembers hoping that Earth's rotation would slow, just for a few more hours of legitimate perfection.

00000

She didn't look at him on the ride to school on Monday, a malignant cherry upon the top of one of the most silent and miserable weekends of his life.

And this is coming from an ex-social pariah.

Sunday morning, she almost burned the house down when she stormed out of the kitchen at the sight of him and left three burners on full tilt. Last night, he had to listen to her dragging his dad's old punching bag out of storage and beating it into oblivion, knowing the entire time she was probably picturing his face.

Or his arm.

Or other parts of himself he doesn't care to think about being beaten…

He remembers the days when he would've killed for her to look at him, even if it did cause him bodily harm. Now, he'd do anything for it to stop hurting every time she looks at him.

His own inferiority staring him in the face is more than he cares to handle right now.

He couldn't keep her happy. The very thing that brought them together is tearing them apart, and it seems so natural that he can hardly be mad at her.

It's more than rough to be tricked for so long, three months of thinking they might just make it, and she might just _like_ him.

A dream is completely different from a dream coming true, and the simple excruciating fact is that Astrid was—probably still is—absolutely awesome. She's smart, and keeps up with his humor and nerdy scatterbrain better than everyone he's ever known. She's caring and resilient and strong in every way that he isn't.

She depends on him enough to make him feel important in a way no one has before. Even Toothless is essentially self-sufficient, more of a crutch than someone who needs one. But Astrid…

Jesus, the most useful he's ever felt is when she needs a Band-Aid, or a hug, or when she climbs into bed with him shivering and presses cold feet against his calves.

Calf.

Singular.

The cycle of depression runs through his mind again, and he stares at his foot, silver in stark relief against the generic doctor's waiting room carpet.

A week ago, he'd been apathetic towards this prosthetics adjustment, everything is working out well, and he can run as fast as he ever could with the new foot. His mobility is still surging forward with leaps and bounds, literally, and he'd almost gotten over the choked throat feeling that overtook his senses every time he looked down.

But, well…he _disgusts_ Astrid.

That has to be it, that's the only conclusion he can draw from her frantic wandering eyes and skittish behavior.

It doesn't mean that it doesn't hurt though. It definitely still hurts.

It's absolutely brutal loving someone this way for months and then learning it was all a lie. It should be comforting that she stayed with him this long for his brain, but it doesn't seem like it's asking too much to want his girlfriend to at least be…interested physically.

Then again, could he really go back now?

It would be like confronting a nuclear disaster, like pacing by the looming shadow of Chernobyl, surrounded by undersized, peculiar wildlife and barely strange foliage. Like walking back into Pripyat, staring at the outline of reactor 4 and walking in rhythm with his Geiger counter.

Sure, the initial fallout was miserable, horrible, cleared out a city.

But a few people trickle back each year, venturing into the area with monitors strapped to their limbs, pretending to be exploring when they're really cataloguing destruction.

The air will be poisonous for decades, and all the birds are sterile. Animals are stunted and miserable, living shortened lives so close to the source of the poison. It won't be ok for hundreds of years, thousands really, and the world would be better off if it stayed away, let the city fall apart into rubble.

He doesn't know if it's the human condition to cling to progress with both hands or what, but people can't let Chernobyl crumble in peace any more than he can keep his mind off of Astrid.

When she dropped that bomb, when she said that she didn't want him, something shattered.

"Hello, Henry," the receptionist greets, cheerily, "The doctor's running a little slow today, so it might be a little while. Astrid didn't come with you today?"

"Nope, she did not," Hiccup answers, the comment salt in an open wound as he pushes off of the door and takes a seat in the too familiar waiting room. It's hard to sit still, with his mind going a mile a minute, and he pretends to wait patiently, staring daggers into the wall of happy prosthetic users.

Oh, look at that guy, holding his freaking cute baby in his fake hand.

And that teenage girl in a prom dress, how special. She even managed to put a high heel on over her shiny plastic foot.

And that old man, with his bobbly ass orthopedic shoe.

A girl strides into the waiting room, one leg of her sweatpants cut to reveal the metal leg sticking out underneath. Hiccup tries not to stare, but she has to be the person closest to his own age that he's ever seen missing a leg. It's obvious from the way that she's standing that her amputation is above the knee, and her gate is even more enviable because of it.

She jokes with the receptionist before returning to the waiting room, sitting down with a surely ancient copy of _Seventeen_ magazine and idly flipping through the pages. Her fake leg stretches out in front of her and Hiccup focuses too intently on his phone, and it's ever apparent lack of text messages.

He knows Astrid didn't _forget_ about his appointment. She's purposefully leaving him to this.

"Are you new?" A voice asks and Hiccup looks instinctively at the girl who is tapping her prosthetic against the coffee table slowly and rhythmically.

"Huh?" He looks around the room and upon seeing no one else, turns back to her, his phone dropping cautiously into his lap. "Are you talking to me?"

"Yeah," she smiles, the expression inherently transparent. "I asked if you were new."

"New at what?" He struggles to drag himself out from under the argument fog still lingering in his brain, keeping him from thinking straight.

"New here," she explains, looking meaningfully at his left foot.

"Oh, erm…November?" He answers slowly, unsure of how new actually qualifies as new.

He realizes that this is his first time talking with someone like him who isn't Gobber. He feels like a member of a community that he somehow escaped indoctrination into, or something.

Is new four months? Or a year?

It doesn't help that she's nodding sagely, and staring at him expectantly, like she's waiting for a password into the secret amputation club.

"Oh wow, so pretty new then." She affirms, standing up and moving to sit next to him with a graceful pivot on the base of her metal leg. "How many have you been through?" She asks, gesturing to his foot and looking curiously at the honeycomb pattern etched in the steel.

"This is my fourth," he shrugs, self-consciously tucking the leg back behind his right foot as his eyes look around the room for something to change the subject.

"Wow, it took me six to get to this one, and then I really started growing," she pats her leg with an aluminum thump and Hiccup smiles awkwardly.

"Yeah, I guess I got lucky. But Dr. Conners is the best," he compliments, willing himself to relax.

"She's great," the girl agrees with an emphatic nod, "before her I was with this hospital assigned jackass who wouldn't give me anything I couldn't hide. I also couldn't walk…" she laughs and Hiccup tries not to think about his mission for the day.

He doesn't necessarily want to _hide_ it…just maybe convince the world that it's not worth looking at.

"Yeah…" he responds quietly, looking both ways and feeling less than suave.

Why is he worried about being suave?

He's never been suave before.

Maybe there's some little granule of accomplishment seated in at least one person thinking he's suave.

Great, now the word suave just sounds strange and made up.

"Hey, you're…It is you! You're Henry Haddock, right?" She asks, suddenly excited and he nods, now looking around for the prank show camera. "I saw all about you on the news in November. It was an animal shelter collapse that did it, right?" Hiccup nods, entirely sure that this is the most friendly anyone has ever been to him.

It's strange, but he doesn't exactly dislike it.

"Yeah, I didn't realize that was covered on the news," he rubs the back of his head nervously.

"They said you were in a coma, so you probably don't remember it being broadcast," she instructs him, emanating that jock confidence he's so used to. He looks down and sees 'South Lacrosse' emblazoned on her hoodie in red letters and nods to himself, comprehending but no less creeped out.

"Well, this is the first time today a complete stranger has told me my life story," he jokes, his cheeks flushing as she laughs, hiding her face embarrassed.

"Oh wow, that must have been horribly creepy," she holds out her hand and he shakes it, utterly shocked by the gentle grip that doesn't threaten to break his fingers. "I'm Heather by the way. And well, it's not often you hear about a teenage guy with a left leg amputation, it kind of hit home." She gestures to her own metallic left limb and Hiccup nods.

"Henry, but I guess you already knew that." God, he hasn't introduced himself to anyone as Henry since he was what, twelve years old?

It's refreshing but strange.

"I guess I did," she shakes her head, obviously still dwelling on her previous embarrassment. She has long dark hair, pulled back into an orderly ponytail, and he idly thinks of how infuriated Astrid would be that he's taking notice of how some other girl's hair actually behaves.

Not that he has an opinion on it, because he really doesn't. It's just different, and he hadn't realized just how familiar he's gotten with the frequency of Astrid twitching to push her hair out of her eyes.

"So, what are you here for?" Hiccup asks, and the girl laughs, her blush deepening.

"Oh, I got angry and rammed someone in lacrosse last week, and put a nice bow into old Melda here," she pats her prosthetic near the top, and he can hear the familiar thud of plastic leg casing against a silicone sock.

"You named your prosthetic Melda?" Hiccup asks with a raised eyebrow, laughing in spite of himself.

"Well, she's my constant companion, I figured she deserved a name," Heather shrugs, stretching her fake leg out in front of her and relaxing in the chair. Hiccup relinquishes his armrest as her arm brushes up against his. "What about you? Yet another animal shelter rescue messing with your footing, or what?"

"Eh, nothing like that," he slowly brings his leg out into the open, looking at both sides of it and perusing its angles. "I'm just thinking of going less…I don't know, Star Trek with it, you know?"

"I don't know about Star Trek, Dr. Bashir would just detach what's left of it and regrow a new one, wouldn't he?" She asks rhetorically with a grin and Hiccup looks at her out of the corner of his eye.

"Deep Space Nine fan?"

"Nog fan," she clarifies, "That story arc where he tried to live in the holodeck? Brilliant."

"I'm more partial to The Next Generation myself, but Deep Space Nine was solid," Hiccup grins to himself.

"Next Gen's alright," she concedes with a nod, and Hiccup shakes his head.

"Anyway, I'm thinking less…futuristic with the leg at the moment," he rewords his previous statement, and she looks at him curiously.

"Why?" She blurts and in the moment he's thinking about a comfortable answer the receptionist calls him back to see the doctor.

"Well, as you know, that's me," he exits at least somewhat gracefully, bobbling to his foot and moseying towards the receptionist's counter.

"Wait up," Heather stands, a little awkward as she finagles her phone out of her pocket. "Maybe we should hang out some time? I don't have many friends I can talk about compression socks with…" she proposes and he blinks.

Wait.

This girl isn't in the shadow of the great Astrid Hofferson.

Is she asking him out?

As much as the ego boost is genuinely appreciated, he deflates slightly, frowning.

"I have a girlfriend," he blurts stiffly and she laughs.

"I seriously meant as friends. My premier flirting technique doesn't exactly involve Star Trek," she reminds him with a smile and he falters, reaching out for her phone and entering his number. It seems like something he should talk to Astrid about, and he hates that he's gotten so tied down without even realizing it.

Whipped isn't and won't ever be a compliment.

"Hell, I'm free tonight," he reminds himself out loud, the sinking silence of home echoing in the back of his head like a recurring nightmare. "If you wanted to hang out later," he offers, and she shrugs.

"Sure, if you can drop me home after, a friend dropped me off here," she plans and he shrugs, happy to not have to go home. "As long as that girlfriend of yours won't mind?"

Mind? Oh, she'd mind. She's still jealous over some younger girl that he doesn't even remember talking to.

He forces himself to shrug.

"Eh, she's busy tonight, watching a movie with a friend," he explains, remembering the caustic mention of her plans that morning.

"Well then, I'll meet you out here," she offers with a shrug and a smile. He nods somewhat curtly, following the nurse back into the familiar doctor's office and sitting down on the table. Doctor Conners doesn't make him wait, and she pushes inside reasonably quickly, setting a bulky file that must be his on the counter and turning to face him.

"So, how's this one working out?" She starts, looking casually away as he bends down and detach his prosthetic.

"Good, fine. It's the best yet," he admits and she smiles, "I'm just wondering if you have anything less…erm conspicuous, you know?" Hiccup asks gently, staring at his metal leg in his hands.

"Less conspicuous?"

"Well, even if it were something I could wear a shoe over, or something…" He hedges awkwardly, subconsciously tucking the end of his stump up under the edge of the examination table. The silicone rim of his sock digs into the tender skin on the inside of his knee and he frowns, looking cautiously up at his prosthesist.

The woman is around forty, and has probably inspired far too many hot doctor fantasies to be healthy, but the events of the previous weekend seem to have clicked that portion of his brain off permanently. He crosses his stump over his healthy knee, forcing his face placid as he fiddles with the grooved base of his compression sock.

"If you go back to a conventional model, you're going to lose a lot of functionality," she warns him simply and he frowns. "Are you being bullied about this or—"

"No, that's not it," he insists, grinning sarcastically in an attempt to weasel his way out of a conversation that he never should have started. "I just calculated the cost of throwing away one shoe out of every pair for the rest of my life and it got me thinking." Hiccup looks around the room for a quiet minute. "It was like 21,000 dollars or something like that. But you know, maybe I can repurpose the left shoe…bird feeders…novelty hats…"

"Henry, I understand that looking _different_ is hard, but this design is giving you so much of your mobility back," she explains and Hiccup frowns.

"It's not about looking different," he lies, hating that this normally physically oriented discussion is turning into therapist fodder.

God, his prosthesist is probably going to call his therapist, and his therapist is going to tell his dad, and his dad is going to fly home from Washington—

"Has this model been giving you any problems?" She asks, concerned and Hiccup sighs.

"No, I mean traction isn't great," he admits, dreading walking back through the almost icy parking lot. "Hence the hope for a shoe or something…" He lies, attempting to bury this conversation.

"Unfortunately there's not a lot we can do for traction. You've been changing out your sole every couple of weeks, right?"

"Yeah," he hefts the prosthetic into his lap, rotating it in his hands and showing the scuffed rubber pad notched into the bottom of his _foot_. "And I'm getting even wear, so I stopped supinating, it's just—weird." He admits quietly and the woman nods.

"Hard to get used to looking down?" She asks and he nods, more than a little shocked that she understands. "A lot of people say that at about your stage in the healing process. One of my patients got in a horrible habit of smacking whatever was on her hand," the doctor comforts anecdotally and Hiccup frowns.

"Well, I'm not that bad…it's just always there, you know?" He asks, hoping that particular comment will stay out of his therapist's office.

"It's only been four months, Henry. You can't expect to change the entire way you see yourself in four months," She cautions him, her palm landing friendly and matronly on his shoulder. He feels…

Well, he thought he changed the way he thought about himself. A week ago, he thought he was lucky, and doing what everyone else was doing, struggling with the same stuff. He felt so absolutely _happy_, surrounded by his dog and his girlfriend, completely comfortable with the path he was on.

He could see months into the future, college, commuting between Boulder and Evergreen to see Astrid.

Now even tonight is mysterious.

"I guess you're right," he mumbles, compressing his leg between his hands and feeling it dig into his palms.

"What I hear is that someday, you're going to get out of bed, and put your leg on, and not think twice about it." She comforts him, carefully extricating the prosthetic from his grip and testing the various moving parts.

"Well, that day hasn't happened yet," he mumbles, taking his leg back and strapping it onto his calf.

"How's Astrid doing?" Doctor Conners asks and Hiccup raises his eyebrows reflexively at the mention of his girlfriend.

"Oh, she's uhh…she's fine," he mutters with a shrug and she doesn't seem to read anything into it.

"That's good," she ensures him, writing something in his file. "And what, have you gained about five pounds?" He shrugs.

"Something like that."

He almost misses the post coming home period, when Astrid meticulously kept track of the too slowly rising numbers, reporting his progress to doctors like a proud parent.

"And I saw you talking to Heather in the waiting room," she continues, looking at him sagely. "Your psychiatrist will tell you over and over that there's no need to seek out friends going through this too, but I think it's good. And she's a good kid."

"Yeah," he nods, glad to have someone's blessing, "we're going to do something tonight. Astrid is hanging out with a friend so…"

"Well, you two have fun. I'll see you next month, same time?" She proposes, reaching out to shake his hand.

"See you then, doc," he slides off of the table, walking back out of the conglomeration of offices, sitting back on his seat in the waiting room.

He wonders how hard Heather had to tackle someone to bend her leg, and how long it's really going to take to form it back.

00000

**So…before I get the flames, I only loosely adapted Heather. Obviously I cut off her leg, and gave her an expanded personality…**

**So she's a loose adaptation, more so that I didn't have to spend the time to go absolutely from scratch in everyone's heads. **

**Also, tell me what you think of her, and the doctor, and Hiccup's side of things. Because this is getting good. And I love all the feedback I've been getting, it's absolutely amazing and you guys are the sole reason I'm going to survive the next seven days and not die of finals stress. **


	4. Chapter 4

**Ok, so since you guys are all reviewing so fast, and I'm so…incessantly stressed about finals and on my absolute last nerve, I'm upping my updating frequency to every other day rather than MWF. **

**So keep up the awesome, fantastic, amazing, fabulous reviews. 123 reviews in three chapters? I've never felt so lucky and appreciated, and I'll keep responding to every single one! **

00000

"So, living with lover boy is a bit stifling after all?" Ruff asks, dodging her friend's laser beam glare as she stuffs a handful of too hot popcorn into her mouth.

"Shut up," Astrid warns, flopping back onto the couch, kicking a pair of boxers that she doesn't want to think about onto the ground with a grimace. Ruff uses her hockey stick to shove them across the room.

"What? Just wondering what disconnected your hipbones," the taller girl pulls a pillow onto the ground and lays back, nudging the DVD tray closed with bare toes.

"We aren't…disconnected," Astrid defends, turning the table with a biting snap, "Come on, you and Fishlegs must have issues," she phrases her question as a statement, tapping her foot against the armrest of the couch.

This is normal, right? Couples fight.

Hell, a lot of couples even fight about sex. It's normal.

Fighting about sex is normal.

"Not yet," Ruff shrugs and Astrid frowns at her nonchalant tone. This is fighting, it's…

It's something she's never dealt with before.

"What do you mean not yet?" It's not like horrible problems are inevitable, is it?

"I don't know, we just haven't really had any issues yet."

"Scott and I never had any issues," Astrid muses defensively, crossing her arms. Ruff laughs.

"Right, and we both know how that worked out."

"It was _fine_," she pouts and Ruff rolls her eyes.

"You only, you know, fell in love with another guy while you two were dating."

"I'll give you that," Astrid shrugs, leaning into the couch and flinching at that oh so famous Lawrence Taylor tackle. "The Blind Side? Good choice."

"Thanks." Ruff grins wolfishly, shoving another impossibly large handful of popcorn into her mouth. "You never gave enough shits about Scott to fight with him." The truth stings like fizzling Hydrogen Peroxide, and she wishes that someone had told Ruff that logic isn't necessarily appreciated.

"He's just…ugh," she trails off and Ruff glances her way.

"Do you want to talk about it or something?"

"Talk about what?" Astrid defends snippily.

"The fact that you and your boyfriend, who you absolutely love, are fighting," Ruff snaps before moaning, "God, that sounded girly, didn't it?"

"Little bit. I do love him though," Astrid admits quietly.

"Oh, don't worry. The whole school knows that," the girl laughs from the floor, "Or don't you remember that Oscar-worthy presentation you—" Astrid reaches down and smacks her friend across the chest. Ruff clutches her injury and kicks the base of the couch, "No boob shots."

"Since when have you had rules, Thorston?"

"Since you started avoiding my questions," she quips, hand resting idly on her stomach as she relaxes back, watching the movie.

"I'm not avoiding your question, I just don't want to talk about it," Astrid curls up, hugging her knees.

She hates being mean to Hiccup, absolutely hate that everything that comes out in his direction is caustic and awful. She doesn't even want any of Ruff's buttery yellow popcorn.

That's how depressed she is.

God, after everything, fighting with Hiccup is what gets her. She just wants to curl up and…she doesn't even know. Sleep? Wait until she can be nice?

Wait until he wants her?

"Are you sure—Ooh, there it is," Ruff holds up her fingers as a rectangular frame, zeroing in on Tim McGraw's slack clad behind. Astrid laughs.

"So that's why you wanted to watch this movie." Astrid joins in, appreciating the view from afar.

"That and all the football players tackling people," she growls low in her throat and Astrid raises an eyebrow. "You know how I like the tackling," she drawls, "like God, this weekend at Fish's rugby game, he took out this 300 pound Austrian guy, and we didn't make it home, ended up defiling the backseat—"

"La la la la la!" Astrid clamps her hands over her ears and Ruff shrugs, unperturbed.

"Oh come on," She grins and Astrid has the sense to look nervous, "You're just jealous because you _always _have to be on top," Ruff jokes, facing turning oddly pensive. "Then again, I'm pretty sure we've noticed Hiccup is taking his physical therapy pretty seriously. I'm definitely not complaining—"

"Hey, Tim McGraw is right there. Mind off of my boyfriend."

"Relax, he's almost the same height as me, it'd be weird. Plus, I don't think I could get him away from you if I kidnapped him," Ruff jokes and Astrid frowns, suddenly sad. Is that still true? It better still be true. Why didn't he _respond_? "I'm just saying," Ruff continues, bawdily drawing a V in the air and cupping two imaginary globes at its base. "Tight."

"Stop it, think about Fishlegs," She laughs, half still stuck on the oddly nice memory of Hiccup wandering around shirtless a few nights ago.

Before everything fell apart.

If she could go back, would she fuck him without the fanfare? Would she get it over with? Would they be happy now?

Or as happy as they could be with fucking involved?

"I think about Fishlegs all the time, and his ass is nice too, in a broader, powerful way. But I mean, Hiccup's is really starting to look like something," Astrid leans over to punch her, but a laughing ruff tugs her off of the couch into a nest of pillows. "I mean, damn, reaching down and finding _that_ in the middle of—"

"We haven't had sex yet," Astrid blurts, and Ruff raises her eyebrows.

"Why not?" She asks, before laughing. "Oh my god! Is Hiccup not ready? Is he making you wait until he understands his feelings?" The other girl _cackles_, looking at Astrid wide eyed and sympathetic.

"It's not—"

"I totally thought you two were fucking by now. Jesus, the way you attack him in the parking lot as soon as you're sure no one is looking." She shakes her head. "And I thought that kid had such potential, having the balls to flirt with _you_—"

"It's not him," Astrid admits, her hatred of hearing Hiccup insulted momentarily greater than her pride.

"Ugh, are you doing that born again virgin shit?" Ruff asks and Astrid rolls her eyes, hugging her ribs tightly.

"No, I just—" She snaps, "Ugh, are you seriously trying to feed me that crap that you legitimately enjoy sex?"

"If Scott's half as selfish off of the field as he is on it, then I'm not surprised you're saying that."

"I don't know, I just don't get what all the fuss is all about. In—" feel violated, "out," feel violated, "Sploosh, done. It's the least—Urgh!" She rolls onto her front, pulling a pillow over her head.

"Two strokes? I had Scott pegged for at least—"

"Can we be done talking about Scott's penis?" Astrid snaps with a grimace, shoving her face into the pillow.

"No, now I'm curious. It didn't feel good at all? Was it like…miniature?" She asks, cautiously curious.

"No! I just don't like it, ok? And I was hoping that I'd have a little longer before it turned back into an issue, but no." She sighs, "But I guess if I want Hiccup to stick around for the next fifty or seventy years, and I think I do, then I'm going to have to work out a deal."

"I just think you need to give Hiccup at least half a second chance," Ruff shrugs.

"I don't—what would he do with it?" Astrid groans, feeling woefully left behind. It's rare that Ruff is so far ahead of her, and she hates feeling immature. It makes her want to whip out all sorts of sordid stories about events she was hardly half involved in. Almost getting caught under the bleachers sophomore year, the time that Scott couldn't quite make it to the top of Lookout Mountain, and he forgot the emergency break.

"I bet he'd do whatever you'd let him, Astrid," Ruff shrugs and Astrid curls tighter into the fetal position, her toes crimping around the blanket. "Let me guess, not appetizing at all? Even I sort of like that idea—" Astrid's foot springs out and kicks Ruff not at all gently in the head.

"It sounds like…work," she grumbles and Ruff shakes her head.

"Damn, Scott did a number on you—"

"Not everyone is a horn-bag like you Ruff," Astrid teases, covering the bubble of shame and misplaced confusion rising in her chest like bile.

"I think it's completely weird that you aren't more of a horn-bag," Ruff shakes her head. "I give it a month before Hiccup cracks that wide open."

"What do you mean?"

"That boy will have skills, I almost guarantee it," Ruff nods certainly.

"Oh, so he's Ruff approved?" Astrid rolls her eyes.

"Soon to be Astrid approved."

"Right, if he ever lets me that close to him again…" The shorter girl grumbles to herself.

"What?"

"Nothing," She mumbles, wiping itchy eyes. "Let's just watch the movie. Look, Tim McGraw's butt is back."

"Tim McGraw's butt is meaningless until you admit that you like Hiccup's butt," Ruff proclaims in a melodramatic drawl and Astrid smacks her in the center of her chest.

"Of course I like—You're not the only one who noticed Hiccup getting hot, you know?" She hides her blush behind a glare and Ruff stares at her expectantly. "I mean, the other morning, he so urgently needed orange juice that he apparently couldn't be bothered to put on a shirt first," she gripes, simultaneously surprised by and fully aware of how strange her bitterness really sounds.

"Don't complain about that," Ruff nearly moans, "If you ever complain about that again, I swear we won't be friends anymore."

"What? You'll ditch me as your friend because I don't appreciate Hiccup…flashing me?" She hugs her stomach, trying to quell the mysterious heat pooling at the suggestion. "Ok, ok, he's good looking." She admits and Ruff pumps her fist in the air victoriously. "So can we drop it now?"

"No, now it's just getting interesting…" Ruff cackles maliciously and Astrid chucks a pillow at her face. "Seriously, Astrid, give him a shot."

"I don't think he wants one," Astrid admits quietly, clenching her fists in her hair and tugging futilely.

"Of course he wants one. Have you seen how he looks at you?" Ruff asks and Astrid's heart clenches obnoxiously.

"I tried on Valentine's day," she admits.

"And it didn't go anywhere?" Ruff asks, raising her eyebrows.

"Well, I climbed on top of him in my underwear, and we didn't have sex," Astrid explains snippily, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Five minutes ago you weren't so pumped with having sex with him, what changed your mind the other night?" Ruff glances sidelong at Astrid.

"It's been four months…" Astrid mumbles, and Ruff kicks her leg.

"Come on, full story Hofferson." She warns, rolling onto her side, "No one wakes up and says, 'oh, well I've been dating someone for four months, better go have sex with him'." Astrid snorts.

"It was Valentine's day, Ruff," she reminds her friend, "are you saying that doesn't get you in the mood?"

"This conversation isn't about me and my moods. You didn't like it when I talked about my moods."

"Yeah, because you were all moody over my boyfriend," Astrid gripes and Ruff nudges her, shrugging.

"You aren't pouncing on that," she laughs before the serious tone sets back in and she quiets, staring at the floor. "You know, I am pretty much the authority on whether you have the right to beat him up or not," Ruff suggests and Astrid mulls that option over.

She doesn't want to punch him.

"The story is awkward," Astrid backpedals.

"And I've cared about awkward since when?"

"True," Astrid chews on her lower lip, flopping too dramatically onto her back. "Ok, so we went to dinner. And it was nice, but really weird—"

"This is _Hiccup_ we're talking about," Ruff interjects.

"Do you want to hear this?" Astrid takes her friend's silence as assent and continues. "And we got home, and we were going to watch a movie, but we started making out instead," she sighs, fiddling with her hoodie zipper and staring at the ceiling like it holds the secret. "And he…it got pretty _heated_, and he started reaching under my clothes, and I noticed he was pretty…riled up…"

"I haven't heard anything negative, Astrid." Ruff mumbles, "This all sounds pretty agreeable."

"I don't think about Hiccup that way," She blurts and Ruff raises her eyebrows.

"What way?"

"I'd never thought about having sex with him, ok?" Astrid admits, confused as to why she's ashamed.

"There's something wrong with your brain," Ruff doesn't joke, shaking her head concerned.

"I just hadn't thought of it, and _it_ took me by surprise," she gestures embarrassed to her groin and Ruff laughs.

"What? Was it abnormal or something?" She leans in conspiratorially close, and Astrid shoves her away with a palm on her nose.

"No!" She groans, "I'm sure it was very normal—"

"When you say normal, do you mean average? Or are you being nice?"

"It has nothing to do with _that_!"

"Nothing to do with what?" Ruff clarifies and Astrid punches her in the ribs.

"Size, alright? And stop thinking about it," she pouts, sitting halfway up and staring daggers at a bookcase filled with DVD's. "I _told_ him."

"Told him what?" Ruff asks, still trying to stop thinking about the sizing thing.

"Told him that I didn't think of him that way," she purses her lips, sitting up and hugging her knees tightly.

"Umm, I think I figured out why he wouldn't have sex with you…" Ruff hedges slowly and Astrid growls, kicking her friend not at all gently in the hip. "Ouch! What did I do?"

"Do you really think that's why he wasn't interested? Now he won't even look at me," Astrid gripes and Ruff nods almost enthusiastically.

"Yeah, I can see him getting pretty damn pissed off."

"I even wore good underwear, and he couldn't get away fast enough," Astrid laments and Ruff rolls her eyes.

"You kind of told your boyfriend that you don't want to have sex with him—"

"Well, I didn't…don't. I don't know," she mumbles, feeling like there's something out of place in her chest. Like a rib has been shuffled, or removed.

Probably still stuck to Hiccup's half of their apparently connected pelvis.

"That might be something you want to figure out," Ruff snorts.

"He won't even look at me," Astrid groans, throwing an elbow over her face.

"You told him that you didn't think about having sex with him."

"I didn't," Astrid shrugs, "I mean, now I have, and it doesn't seem weird, so that's why I went to try and have sex with him."

"Have you ever considered that Hiccup might want to decide if he wanted to sex with you?" Ruff asks, and Astrid wrinkles her nose.

"I knew it. Someone was bound to have issues with the B cups someday," she cups her chest, squeezing and willing herself to disappear. "Scott never had a problem, because I have the ass, but maybe Hiccup is pickier—"

"Your boobs are fine," Ruff rolls her eyes, "I think you should be focusing more on the fact that _you told him you didn't want to have sex with him_."

"But then I went and jumped on him and tried to have sex with him."

"It doesn't negate what you said, Astrid." Ruff scoffs, "You should probably tell him that you were full of shit and terrified by his abnormally large penis, and that you didn't mean it."

"His penis—it wasn't _abnormally_ large," Astrid mumbles, feeling immensely out of her depth.

"That doesn't matter, it's an apology," Ruff explains. "You need to go home and tell him that you were on crazy pills and that you love him."

"I still swear it's the boobs," Astrid laments, and Ruff smacks her across the chest. Astrid flinches and hugs her chest tighter.

"Self-conscious looks shitty on you."

"I'm not self-conscious," Astrid snaps, "I'm just honest! My boobs are…underdeveloped."

"Yeah, because you have like 0.2% body fat," Ruff snarks and her friend sighs.

"Whatever, just…watch the freaking movie."

Underdeveloped is the right word.

Sometimes, Astrid thinks that she probably just stopped puberty when she was 14. Between the mileage and the stress, everything just slowed down. Some months she'd even run enough to disrupt her cycle, and that whole thing ended up being more of a blessing than a curse.

She wishes that she'd had the opportunity to wish for bigger boobs, instead of being grateful that she seemed to be regressing. She should have hated it when she barely filled out her bra, should have thought about stuffing like every other 14 year old girl.

Instead she was glad that running fifty miles a week ensured any present violation wouldn't eclipse her future.

00000

"Finally, that's actually done with," Heather announces, hopping into the waiting room and un-cuffing her pant leg, letting it fall to what would be mid-shin. Hiccup stands, feeling ultimately very strange as the girl walks up beside him, almost making him herd her out the door.

She's taller than he's used to, probably three or four inches taller than Astrid. He wishes he'd stop comparing the two, but it seems to happen without his express consent.

"Let me guess, walking on the bowed leg was a little awkward?" he asks, almost surprised at the near freakishly coordinated deceleration of their steps when they reach the icy parking lot. Fluffy, innocent snowflakes are just floating down, sticking to the ice like traction land mines.

"More than a little, do you know what it's like to have your left leg way shorter than your right?" She asks, following his lead tentatively to his car.

"Yeah, I actually do know," he jokes with a laugh and she blushes.

That seems to happen at the drop of a hat.

"Right, you're…in the club," she climbs into the front seat of his car, shivering overtly.

"What club?" He asks, turning on his car and pulling carefully out of the spot, feeling absolutely _wild_. He's a man unhinged, driving to nowhere, with a girl he doesn't know.

Even now, he doesn't have the same sense of anticipation as he did all those months ago, in an absolutely different time, driving towards Astrid in the middle of the night.

Is 18 too young to peak?

"The tripod club," Heather laughs and Hiccup can't help but roll his eyes. "What? It's prestigious, we have tee-shirts."

"Right, well, put me down for a medium," he snarks, pulling up to the end of the driveway and fiddling with the turn signal that he's not sure how to turn on. "So, where exactly are we going?"

"I don't know, I figured you had a plan when you asked me to hang out," she shrugs.

"You don't know?" He raises his eyebrows, clicking the turn signal back and forth. "Any ideas?"

"I don't know," she shrugs, stiff and prim in his front seat.

"No ideas at all?" He asks, and she looks at him questioningly. "Ok then," he turns right, the spur of the moment decision both thrilling and nerve-wracking.

Maybe, there's a large part of him that's truly ok with Astrid calling the shots.

He proceeds under the guise of assuming that his inherent manhood is somehow repressed, and drives to the nearest strip mall in the suburban Mecca. He tools slowly around the edge of the parking lot, coasting through crosswalks and looking around expectantly.

"Do you want me to tell you where to stop?" Heather asks after a couple of laps around the gargantuan Old Navy in the middle of the asphalt.

"I guess," Hiccup laughs, more exasperated than despondent. "I mean, I guess I'm not used to choosing." He's crippled, and she couldn't ever possibly love him in the way he loves her.

"Who normally chooses?" Heather laughs sitting forward and crooked as she bends at the hip to make up for her lack of knee.

"My girlfriend," he mumbles, the word hitting home more than he expects. Is she worried about…everything like he is? He wonders what she even thinks the problem is.

He wonders if she's still all about him shoving her away. He wonders if she's even realized why he's mad.

He _deserves_ to be angry. He's crippled, and she couldn't ever possibly love him in the way he loves her.

"Sounds like she has you pretty…yeah," Heather trails off at Hiccup's surprisingly sharp almost glare.

"She's a bit of a Juggernaut," he deadpans, emotion trying and failing to claw its way to the surface through the layer of sludge.

"You say that like it's—You don't sound too happy about that."

"Hey, I thought we were here to talk about compression socks," Hiccup changes the subject, awkwardly rubbing a hand up the back of his neck.

"Ok, ok," she holds up her hands in mock surrender and backs off, sitting back. "If you're seriously not going to pick a place…" she pauses, looking at him patiently, waiting for a response. "Then I'm going to go out on a limb here and say Chipotle."

"Chipotle it is," he shrugs, maneuvering his way to the nearest spot and reluctantly hanging his handicapped parking pass from the mirror.

"Don't you just love that?" Heather asks with a grin.

It hits Hiccup that she's probably very pretty, and he should be happier than this that she's being so nice to him.

"Love what?" He asks.

"Handicapped parking," she shrugs, pulling her hoodie sleeves over her hands and shivering prematurely. "It's so nice for going down town and stuff too."

"I bet," he shrugs and climbs out of the car, glad for the lack of ice in his chosen spot. Heather slides out and looks at him incredulously over the windshield.

"What? Don't you like go into the city on the weekend?" She raises her eyebrows at his nonchalant shrug.

"Paying 10 dollars to park isn't exactly my idea of the best way to drop a Hamilton." He snarks, and she looks at him strangely. "He's on the ten dollar bill?"

"You do know that parking lots have credit card readers now, right?"

"It was a joke," he hedges slowly and her eyes light up like he flicked a switch.

"Oh! I get it, dropping Hamitons instead of dropping Benjamins," she laughs too hard, but even Hiccup can't resist that enthusiasm and he grins. "Still, we should go down town sometime," she offers, casually grabbing his forearm as her metal foot loses traction. His ego swells as he stabilizes her, and she lets go as soon as they're on the clear sidewalk. "I'll even drop my own Hamilton for parking," she titters quietly, obviously still amused.

"Eh, it's not really my _scene_ anyway," he shrugs, attempting reflexively to shrink as he takes the door handle from her, following her into the warm restaurant.

"What do you mean?" She asks, standing squarely at the back of the line.

"Crowds tend to stare…" It's different admitting stuff like that to someone in such a similar predicament, and it feels like an anvil has been hefted off of his chest.

"I like the attention," Heather shrugs and grins, and for a second, it's very clear that he's looking at some alternate dimension's _Astrid Hofferson_.

"And that's something we don't have in common," Hiccup mumbles, waiting as Heather orders.

"…do you have the wheat tortillas?" The bored employee nods, "Yeah, one of those. Brown rice, and I told you vegetarian, right?" She seems almost nervous, and the employee serves her the grilled vegetables with a frustrated glance, until she smiles and he cheers up, "mild salsa, no dairy," she finishes her order.

Hiccup remembers Astrid's reluctant grimace eating a salad at Applebee's back when she'd never even kissed his _cheek_. He wonders if Heather is eating like a bird because he's here, but it seems more practiced and meticulous than that.

He makes his own order and pays, grateful that the line between awkward and burgeoning friendship remains solid when she pays for herself. She whirls away from the register, barely limping as she scoots up to the corrugated aluminum counter, reaching down and unlocking a sometimes knee, letting her prosthetic hang.

Hiccup can't help but be fascinated, and he's relieved when she grins.

"So are you actually a vegetarian?" He asks, doing his best not to feel out of place as he slides onto the stool next to her, carefully unwrapping the end of his burrito.

"Naw, pescetarian," she shrugs, carefully flicking a miniscule piece of jalapeno off of her food before taking a bite.

"Pescetarian?"

"Fish, as in I don't eat any meat but fish. I'm trying to keep paleo too, but well, grains," she inspects her burrito sheepishly, "and legumes are good."

"Wow, and I thought I was doing good if I ate an apple a day," he laughs.

"Technically, you probably should have closer to—oh, joke?" She clarifies with that already almost familiar blush.

"Yeah," he shrugs.

"You joke a lot, are you funny?" She asks quizzically, and Hiccup raises his eyebrows. "Oh god, I'm sorry I don't know who shoved my foot in my mouth today. You don't just ask someone if they're funny." She shakes her head, taking another cautious bite of food.

"I don't know, it might do the world some good if someone asked George Lopez that," he chuckles to himself, and her eyes widen.

"Oh my God, I love George Lopez!" She exclaims, her voice dropping into an impression.

"Right…" Hiccup laughs, humoring her as he takes another bite.

"Anyway, I've been grilling you all day, it's probably only fair…" she glances around the room before launching into a well-practiced diatribe in a tone he recognizes. "Car accident when I was four. It was an SUV, but we were T-boned and my knee was crushed. My parents were fine," she chirps the last sentence like a silver lining and Hiccup nods, enjoying the openness.

Information he didn't have to pry free with a crowbar?

Priceless.

"When you were four? That must have been rough," he comments, imagining the careless cruelty of elementary school with an added attribute suitable for cannon fodder.

"Honestly, I bet high school was rougher. At least I got used to being different before everyone go so…catty," she shrugs, taking a small, polite bite.

"Trust me, I was already different," Hiccup laughs. "You try being the scrawny son of a once college football player."

"I wouldn't exactly call you scrawny," she furrows her eyebrows at him and he sits up straight, taken aback.

"Oh wow, all of—well, pretty much all of this," he waves a hand over his front, "is new. I think I'm the first person in the history of amputation to gain muscle mass."

"Did you just gesture to all of you?" She asks, and he shrugs.

"Yeah."

"I like it," she chuckles under her breath, taking another bite and chewing pensively.

"So, I'm guessing you play lacrosse?" He asks, gesturing to her hoodie. She looks down and nods proudly, and it's the same face Astrid makes when someone recognizes her from the paper.

"Starting Varsity as a freshman, but my team isn't the greatest," she grins, "Oh, and I'm a Junior now, by the way. What about you?"

"Oh, umm, I'm a senior over at Berk, and I play no sports," He laughs.

"None at all?" She asks exasperated, and he shakes his head. "Every Viking I've met is so…Jockey…"

"Well, that's pretty much true," he agrees. "Who've you met from Berk?"

"Oh, well I'm sure you know Scott Nout and Tuff Thorston?" She starts and laughs when Hiccup rolls his eyes. "Hmm…and anyone who's ever lived through one of my coach's sprint workouts has heard of the mythic Astrid Hofferson."

Hiccup blushes.

"You know Tuff and Scott?" He asks, feeling inexplicably like Astrid is suddenly staring him down. Heather narrows her eyes.

"You blushed when I mentioned Astrid Hofferson. What? Are you one of the horde of admirers?" She jokes and Hiccup rubs the back of his neck.

"I'd like to think I'm at least leading that horde," he laughs, because it's better than crying. "That's my girlfriend."

"No way! You're the mythical _Hiccup_! Scott complains about you stealing his girlfriend all the time!" She leans forward like he's in the middle of an epic tail and Hiccup rolls his eyes.

"And that nickname comes out…" he mutters. "How do you know Scott anyway?"

"Oh, right," she laughs, "I live over by DU, we frequent the same frat houses," she explains. "Rich college kids, lots of booze," Heather nods sagely.

"I don't think I'm quite ready for drinking on this thing," He laughs, out of his element. He's never even gotten drunk outside of the realm of scientific experimentation with Fishlegs when they were fifteen. The disappearance of the taboo surrounding bringing up the leg is nice though. Astrid would probably punch him and produce a bottle of hard liquor, daring him to drink it and prove himself wrong.

It is possible to be _done_ with the pushing. Even only temporarily.

"Fair enough. I know I'm glad to drink sitting down," she laughs, decidedly free of judgment, and Hiccup smiles. "Anyway, Astrid Hofferson, eh?" She winks at him and he shrugs, feeling guilty taking credit at the moment.

Sure, he got her, but what does that matter if she doesn't _want_ him?

"Yeah, since…well since she broke with Scott. October, I guess?"

"You guess?" She asks curiously, chewing slowly.

"It was all kind of lumped in with the coma," he laughs, almost glad that the news told her so that he doesn't have to, "I woke up and it was…pretty much sealed." He grins even as their recent issues kick him in the gut. He coughs.

"Well, I like her moxie," Heather grins, and it really does feel like friendship.

Hiccup has never really had a friend that's a _girl_ before, because well, that never would have really worked with Astrid. He already liked her too much, and everything she said, every joke she got without asking just deepened that. But Heather…well, she's nice, which is new, and talking to her isn't like talking to Fishlegs. There's no sliver of competition, no chance of bringing up test grades, no awkward man-on-man tropes to adhere to.

Plus, Heather understands things that he hopes Fishlegs and Astrid never will.

She understands what it's like to wake up and feel like a construction project, building and strapping herself together before rolling out of bed.

He hopes that Astrid never gets out of bed and feels anything less than capable.

"What about you?" he asks, looking down utterly shocked that he finished eating first.

He actually got a whole burrito to himself, without Astrid staring hungrily at the last few inches, asking him every thirty seconds when he'll be finished.

"Oh, a boyfriend?" She laughs, "I'd ask them to hand me my leg once, and they'd freak out," Hiccup snorts and Heather nods, rolling her eyes. "Not to mention the fact that most high school boys are twelve inside."

"Hey, don't judge me for getting up early on the weekend to watch cartoons," he laughs, and she looks at him strangely.

"You still watch Saturday morning cartoons?"

"Well, not since they got rid of classic Looney Toons," he shrugs and she laughs.

It's the most normal he's felt since Friday.

00000

**So, am I the only one who is completely in love with just how amazingly inappropriate Ruff is? She's pretty much my favorite. She's fantastic. **

**And now you guys should tell me what you think of Heather now that we know a little bit more. I'm so excited about revealing this finally after so much time working on it, and I just really want to know what you all are thinking about it! **

**And I'm sorry, I just can't think of any way to respond to anonymous reviews that's not really clumsy and that doesn't add like hundreds of words to every chapter. So if you review anonymously and really want a reply, ask a definite question and ask for a reply? Then I can sneak that into an author's note, without too much fanfare. The rest of you will continue to get PM's and…Chapter 5 will be up on Saturday!**


	5. Chapter 5

00000

Astrid stares at her reflection in the mirror, wondering when she forgot how to use eyeliner.

It must be the four months of not giving a shit, coupled with being too busy, and too ready to sweat, but her hands are shaky and she looks ridiculous. She wets a cotton ball in the sink and starts over, wiping the make-up from her eyes.

Leaning forward is worse and she blushes, pulling up the v-neck of her shirt.

They're pretty accurate when they say the bra adds 2 cup sizes.

Why is she doing this?

The question hits like a hammer and she tugs again at her shirt, dragging it down and up over newfound padded curves.

God, why do people even like big boobs? This is ridiculous, she can barely see her toes. She tugs her shirt over her head, dropping it onto the cold tile of the bathroom floor and staring back at herself.

That's…better.

She looks…well, she looks different.

Grown up maybe?

Sure, it's a little ridiculous, but it's completely soothing to look like anyone but herself. God, she actually has cleavage, that's definitely a first. And while breathing isn't necessarily easier, and she's pretty sure she could get into a car accident without an airbag and be utterly fine…different is probably just what she needs.

She leans forward, slightly distracted by the way that her brand spanking new cleavage seems to _expand_, and draws her eyeliner on in two twin confident lines.

Maybe she can't look 14 anymore. Maybe it's time that she grows up, and gets over everything that happened.

She swipes on mascara and tugs her tee-shirt over her head, staring into the eyes of someone _collected_.

It turns out that memory foam fills in cracks in a veneer better than spackle.

She feels the most normal that she has in months.

She traipses back into her room, shoving her feet into her boots and pulling a jacket over her shoulders. Of course Hiccup isn't awake yet.

Then again, he was out to all hours of the night doing God knows what. She hated the flush of relief when he came inside almost as much as she hated the fact she was still awake waiting for him.

His hardwood bedroom door would be a thrill to break down, but aside from Ruff's bolstering recommendations, she's not quite sure that she's ready to invade his privacy. The girl—no, woman—she saw in the mirror that morning would splinter the slab of oak and stride into his room, throwing his clothes at him and demanding that he get out of bed and not make her any later than she already is.

But…she guesses it takes some time for appearance to sink in.

The girl she still is wants to ignore him. Wants to avoid him at all costs, because being mean to him is still just too strange and horrible. The last time she was cruel to him, it ended in a cast and changed her life, and she's just not ready for everything to change again.

She wishes life had a rewind, or that punching Hiccup did anything but make her hate herself.

She knocks on his door, standing awkwardly at arm's length.

"Hiccup? We're running late…as _always_." She nearly snarls, hiding her smile as he obviously falls out of bed. That shouldn't be _cute_.

"Just give me five seconds," he grumbles, and she hears what must be his leg smack against his bedframe. At least she hopes it's his leg.

"You have two," she rolls her eyes, tapping her foot irritably.

"Jesus, keep your leg on!" he snarks and she wrinkles her nose, taken aback.

"What?"

"I said keep your leg on," he stumbles again, lurching around his room and shoving stuff into his backpack. The sound of the zipper is course and jarring and Astrid shakes her head.

"That's what I thought. Again, what?" she asks, standing her ground as he flings open the door. "Was that supposed to be a joke?"

"Yeah, it was a joke," he shrugs, checking his backpack for something and struggling with the zipper on its smaller pocket.

"It wasn't funny," she almost stutters.

Hiccup just said something…tacky. And boring.

It doesn't make any sense.

"I thought it was pretty funny," he looks at her face first and she can't even smirk.

"No you didn't."

"Oh, and how do you know what I think is funny?" he asks with a superficial smile she's _never_ seen before.

"You smirk when you think something's funny. You aren't smirking." She points at his mouth and he's suddenly hyperaware of his lips.

She's right. He doesn't think he's ever made this face before.

"I still thought it was pretty funny," he lies, letting the grin slip from his face as she puts her hands on her hips, staring at him incredulously.

"It was actually pretty stupid," she laughs cruelly, "I didn't realize it was suddenly hilarious to make fun of people with two legs."

"Well, I'm—" And he glances down, his eyes widening in a glassy-eyed, shell-shocked stare. "Those are…new…" he mumbles and Astrid flushes with embarrassment, stepping backwards and buttoning her coat.

"Discrete, Hiccup!" She sneers, crossing her arms.

"What?" he snaps, shaking his head to clear that particular image as he blushes, swinging his backpack fully onto his shoulders.

"I don't know," she blurts.

She can't discern whether she likes him looking at her or not, and that's the worst part. She settles for unbuttoning the bottom notch of her jacket, half tempted to throw it over her head.

That wouldn't exactly be subtle.

She hates subtle.

Does new, grown-up Astrid hate subtle?

"What exactly are you—" His voice cracks and he clears his throat, swelling to his full six feet, "What exactly are you wearing?"

"Clothes. Are you asking about my jacket specifically?" She asks, too bitter to be playing coy.

"You know what I'm asking about," he crosses his arms and she checks her watch.

"We're late," she starts walking towards the front of the house and Hiccup reaches out grabbing her shoulder. She shrugs him off, elbowing him in the ribs, and reeling away. "What? Let me guess, you don't like the shoes?" She snarls at him.

"You know what my problem is," he claims and she rolls her eyes.

"You do know that this is the first time you've talked to me in days?"

"Yeah, and this is the first time you've talked to me," he shares in her indignation, and she exhales, feeling overwhelmingly deflated.

"It's not my fault you can't use an alarm like every other adult," she sneers and Hiccup stares her down, sheepishly sliding his left leg behind his right.

"Don't change the subject."

"We're late," she says lowly, pushing her bangs off of her face.

"We both know what this is about," he blurts, looking down at his toes. That solitary set of toes. He thought that talking to Heather would be like a switch. Suddenly he'd have some burst of clarity and he'd be alright with everything.

Instead, he's just starting to learn that it never goes away, probably never even gets better. Heather has been in this situation for years and she's still struggling with it.

Astrid sets her jaw, blinking back stinging tears.

He can't even _look_ at her.

Ruff was wrong. It has nothing to do with what she said, it's…he doesn't actually want her.

Sure, anyone can get heated while they make out, clothes can move, things happen.

He regretted trying.

Hiccup always saw what was beneath her exterior, and she used to feel so lucky that it attracted him. He always saw how she was smart and funny and strong, and apparently barely alluring.

God, he saw so many times what she looked like first thing in the morning, after races, after sleepless nights.

Of course she can't get a guy without being _pretty_. Maybe she's…not. Maybe it's the façade and the makeup and the coy little dance that got them. Whether she's running away or running towards, she's sure never garnered attention while standing still.

She got soft with Hiccup.

She's done being soft.

"We're late," she says too loudly, words too crisp in the deadened hallway.

"Yeah, I heard you the first 50 times," he snarks and she glances back at him, face softening despite her best efforts.

"That smirk," she comments quietly, shouldering her backpack in the living room and saying goodbye to the dogs. "That's your 'I think I'm so funny' face."

The ride to school is silent and Hiccup can't help but dwell on his confusion with regard to recent developments.

First off, where exactly did Astrid's…chest come from?

He definitely saw her almost naked on Friday, and those did not join the party. He glances sidelong at her, fixating a little on the bulge even through her winter coat. His eyes slide up, and he frowns at her faded freckles and the stark lines of makeup framing her eyes.

She's…untouchable. What with her chin jutted out defiantly as she casually glides through the lanes of traffic, her normal screaming road rage reduced to silent sneers as she merges recklessly onto the highway.

He yawns and she peeks sideways at him before shaking her head and glowering out of the windshield.

He was actually out late the night before, after Heather convinced him to go see Forrest Gump, because apparently it's only back in theaters for the week or something. It was fun…different but fun.

Looking back, he'd have rather seen an absolutely shitty movie with Astrid.

He remembers around Christmas when Astrid dragged him to some seedy second rate movie theater that was playing The Princess Bride for 3 dollars a ticket. He's surprised they didn't get arrested for public drunkenness, what with Astrid trying to shush him while laughing so hard he feared she might pee herself.

Heather is more…serious that Astrid. Well, serious isn't really the right word. She's smoother, her highs and lows immediately apparent as less violent and less frequent. A ride in a commercial plane when he's used to the thrill of a bush pilot.

More bush planes crash, but more passengers survive when they do.

They said they'd hang out sometime soon, and Hiccup wonders how soon is soon. Tonight is a no go, because his dad is having a practical layover in town tonight before flying out tomorrow afternoon.

Wow, seeing his dad is going to be awkward. Last time they talked, the older man was offering to help make some grandiose plan for Valentine's day and Astrid was dragging him around corners to kiss him when she hoped no one was looking.

So…maybe he'll give Heather a call to do something tomorrow night?

Even if it's just homework…

He should tell Astrid though, at least in the interest of full discretion, right?

But what is there to tell?

He's allowed to have friends, especially friends who don't find him immediately disgusting. He doesn't have to let her into every aspect of his life. Something about the bulb of guilt thawing in his stomach tells him that he really should tell Astrid. He can hear how that conversation would go in his mind, see her confused and too astute eyes trying to figure him out. Whenever he tells her something, it's like she's trying to enhance a 480p video to 1080p HD, making up the pixels not immediately apparent like weaving modern threads into a tapestry.

He'll say he's going out, and she'll ask with whom, because if Astrid has any consistency, it's in her impeccable grammar.

He'll tell her he met Heather at Dr. Conners, and she'll ask if she can meet her.

He'll be punched for explaining he's enjoying having someone to talk to about…leg stuff, and she'll wonder why he isn't talking to her.

Then they'll probably fight, because apparently that's what they're in the mood for lately. He's not an idiot, he knows he's contributing. Maybe his inner jock is finally appearing as the devil on his shoulder, convincing him in malicious whispers that the best defense is offense.

Maybe feeling angry at Astrid, at the world, at his leg, is better than the utter quiet loneliness he never wants to get used to again.

He guesses being an only child dooms you into being an introvert, especially with his mom gone when he was so young and his dad so gruff and quiet. He used to be more comfortable talking to Toothless, or a wall than people. He used to restrict his words to math talk at Fishlegs. But having someone constantly around for months changed him. He'd like to think his newfound yen to socialize is a good thing, but between his grating wit and status as a sideshow member to everyone but sexagenarians with diabetes, he's not exactly social butterfly of the month.

With Astrid, there's a million little cords holding them together like unidentifiable magnets, and given the time they took, it's—when they're not fighting—comfortable beyond belief.

But for someone like Hiccup, and obvious friend like Heather is about all the connecting he can really handle right off the bat. Sure, they might disagree on music, or movies, or politics, or any of those other superficial friendship sparks, but there's always that defined tether.

They pull into the parking lot and Astrid coasts into a handicapped spot, turning off the engine. She presses a hand to her forehead and shuts her eyes. It must be genetically programmed into his brain to _kiss_ her or _something_ when she deflates like that.

Anything to touch her.

His hand almost lazily drifts across the impossible chasm between the front seat arm rests.

"Why are you still here?" She snaps, her eyes still closed as the hand he almost touched falls into her lap.

"I'm absolutely willing to change shirts with you," he offers, trying to sound more joking than he feels.

"What?" She asks as a warning. So now he thinks that the rest of the world doesn't want to look at her either?

If she's ever had a problem with attention, it's too many people looking, the wrong people looking. She's never had to worry about no one looking at all.

"Never mind," he backpedals, taken aback at her caustic tone.

"Good," she grumbles, climbing out of the car and grabbing her backpack from the backseat before he can get in another word.

She remembers when she was dating Scott, the hallways would erupt in suspicion if she didn't greet him enthusiastically.

Now…well, the silence is oddly appreciated. She waves at one of the freshman from track and the girl grins. The walk to her locker is surprisingly soothing, her new _form_ rubbing strangely against the soft cotton liner of her jacket. She stops at her locker and hastily enters her combination, stuffing her jacket inside and adjusting the neckline of her shirt while pretending not to be self-conscious. She grabs her book for second period and scuttles down the hall to her first period art class.

No more electives that could force her into partner projects or presenting.

Not worth the stress, and she sure as hell can't take it turning out the same as last time.

Astrid walks into class with the bell, smiling apologetically at the teacher and taking the last seat left in the room, the sole girl at a table with three lazy senior baseball players. They grin at her in that hopeful way she hasn't quite missed since she stopped wearing makeup regularly.

She grins back, sitting up straight and looking pointedly at the teacher while she introduces her familiar diatribe about continuing progress on their coil formed pots. As soon as she's done speaking, Astrid pushes to her feet and retrieves her half-finished project and a lump of clay, resuming her seat at the table.

Being silent is fine with her, they seem to be involved in their own conversation about a game that weekend.

Baseball's not really her thing, too much standing around and too much _luck_.

She makes her own luck.

She starts rolling out the lump of clay into a thin coil, and notices that the conversation dies out right when she gets it roughly cylindrical. The kid across from her glances semi-discretely from the front of her shirt to her hands, eyes glazed.

She wants to hit him.

She sits up straighter.

The table gets quieter.

Is it wrong to like the attention? Probably. She remembers hating boys gaping at her when she was with Scott, remembers the sick reality that she'd resigned herself practically as property. Now well, she's her own, right? And she can like or dislike whatever attention she wants.

She cocks her head and flicks her hair out of her eyes, and one of the boys drops a sculpting tool on the ground with a clatter. She glares at him and he backpedals, and that sensationally relieving rush of power threatens to overwhelm.

Maybe she's been missing out.

00000

"Astrid?" Hiccup sheepishly peeks around her bedroom doorframe that evening, "My dad's on his way."

She looks up from her book, bangs flopping irritatingly over her eyes. She follows his flushed gaze to the deep v-neck of her tee-shirt and frowns at him, ignoring the heat that rises to her cheeks. She doesn't think she missed a single one of the dozens of glances at her today, and this is the first that made her blush.

She fiddles with the neckline of her shirt, almost pulling it up before letting it hang slack and looking at Hiccup defiantly.

"Ok," she says too loudly, snapping his eyes to her face as she pivots and sits on the edge of the bed.

She _knows_ it's childish when she stretches her arms over her head, again drawing his eye.

She feels normal when he's looking at her, and is suddenly momentarily disgusted with herself, crossing her arms over her chest.

"He said about fifteen minutes."

"I said _ok_," Astrid reiterates snippily, far angrier than she should actually feel. She tugs on the bottom hem of her shirt, staring straight down the slope of her chest at the decorative center on the front of her bra. This is still wildly uncomfortable. She glances at Hiccup and crosses her arms more tightly, defending—or hiding—herself from his eyes.

"Has Spike had dinner? I'm about to feed Toothless," he asks and Astrid rolls her eyes.

"They already ate, I always feed them when I get home from practice."

"But you didn't think to tell me that?" Hiccup asks, a tsunami of bitter sarcasm floating on a raft of misplaced gratefulness rising in the pit of his throat.

"What I do with Toothless is our business," she defends ridiculously, nose in the air.

"Not like he's _my_ dog or anything—"

"Hey, it's not my fault he likes me."

"He likes you because he's getting fed twice!" Hiccup blurts, wishing he left minutes ago. Why did he even come down here? Why can't he leave well enough alone?

She made it clear this morning that she doesn't really want to talk to him.

Apparently she wants to talk to everyone else though.

He guesses that when he sees her, he just has to _infuriate _her, it's just who he is. Even when she didn't know him, he still got her to break his arm.

He's just so talented.

"Who cares how much he eats?" Astrid asks, "He's fine, he ran four miles with me yesterday!" She clues Hiccup in, irrationally angry.

"You took him running in the snow yesterday?" Hiccup asks and Astrid glares at him, obstinate. He feels like he could tear his hair out. "He's not exactly a master of traction, Astrid. You can't just—Ask me before—"

"He followed me! I didn't take him anywhere, he wanted to go," she insists, "And stop acting like he's crippled, because he's not. He's fine. You're the only one who makes a big deal out of it."

"Oh, so he's fine, but I'm not?" Hiccup spits unthinking, and his eyes widen as he takes a literal step back, shrinking as his shoulders fold downward.

He's not fine. He's really not fine.

"What?" Astrid's anger fades to confusion.

"Never mind."

"No, what did you say?"

"What? Did you not hear me over your brand new cleavage?" He snaps, diverting her attention. She grits her teeth, her arguments against re-breaking his arm dwindling.

"Oh, so you did notice. Because you haven't _looked_ at me in days," she accuses and Hiccup laughs humorlessly.

"The international space station noticed _that_, and I noticed this morning," he gestures to her chest and she crosses her arms, aghast.

"Well, I bet those astronauts would know what to do with it if it crawled in their lap," she knows it's a low blow, and hates how good the vicious words feel tearing out of her throat.

"Oh, so you wouldn't be _disgusted_ by an astronaut? That's my problem? I just need to go up to space and—"

"I'm not _disgusted_ by you!" She yells and Spike appears out of nowhere, running between Astrid and Hiccup and growling protectively. "Down girl!" She snaps and Spike listens, plopping flat and looking worried around the room.

"You're scaring Spike," he accuses and she is absolutely sure that she would snap his arm if she could reach it.

"Shut up."

"My dad's bringing food. I'm sure you two have all sorts of carb loading and weight lifting and nerd punching to catch up on," he grins sardonically, remembering the first time he dared to be flippant around her. If he can't make her happy, it sure is more satisfying to make her more furious than anyone else than it would be to leave her alone. "And maybe he can give you a nice _fatherly_ lecture about how you're obsessed with showing the world your new boobs."

"What is your _problem_, Hiccup?" Astrid nearly roars. "It's a shirt, not lingerie!" The thought of her in lingerie brings them both back and they blush, glaring across the room. "And it's none of your business what I wear anyway."

"I don't know, I thought it might be within my bounds to want my girlfriend's _chest_ in her shirt."

"You're jealous," Astrid accuses, gleeful malice in her eyes.

"Yeah, I'm pretty jealous," he admits with a terse shrug.

"Well, I—" she sighs, "Why don't you do something about it?" She's not sure what exactly she wants him to do, but suddenly the yearning to _touch _him is so great her hands feel like they're on fire.

"Why is that the question?" He reflects, exasperated, "No particular interest into why you're trying to make me jealous?"

"I'm not trying to make you jealous," Astrid lies, realizing in that moment that's exactly what she's trying to do.

Who is she?

She's fully her own, but maybe she doesn't like it. She doesn't like who she is when her instincts are driven by anger and revenge.

She misses him so much it hurts. She hates everything he's saying like a knife to the chest.

"Well then, you're really talented," he frowns. "Maybe you're just getting your next boyfriend all buttoned up before you dump me, so there's none of that socially devastating single time," he reveals before thinking and she flushes, completely deflating.

"What?" she mumbles, reeling back from him as her voice falters. "Is that—is that really what you actually think?" She's trying to fight, but it feels like he kicked her.

"Er…" he trails off at her absolutely crushed expression.

He'd underestimated just how easy it is to go too far.

"Do you think I'm just _using_ you as in-between boyfriends?"

Is that what it looks like? Is that what it is like? Is that…is she…is…is?

"What _are_ you doing?" He asks and she crumbles under his gaze, words low in her throat like a wounded growl.

"You haven't looked at me in days," she defends weakly and forces her jaw defiant.

"So anyone looking will do?"

"Get out," she orders.

"I'm trying to talk to you—"

"By insulting me?" She asks, face unbearably open and raw. He crosses his arms, silent behind a seemingly unbreakable blockage in his throat. "Because I'm not going to play."

"I'm not _playing_."

"It feels like you're playing," she accuses, standing up and pacing in a tiny circle by the bed, wishing for whatever she used to have that let her shut out the world like turning off a faucet.

"I'm not playing," he defends, and she turns and glares at him.

"Get out and let me change," she spits, hearing the garage door open. Hiccup turns to leave and she calls out after him. "And if your dad asks, everything is fine."

He shuts the door behind him, wondering how she ever expects that ruse to work.

Besides the fact that Astrid is a horrible actress, and the only way she can possibly conceive of hiding secrets is yelling at people, but he's _mad_. Honestly mad.

It's not like he doesn't have a temper or doesn't get angry, because he really does. He's never felt so murderous as when he learned why dogs came to the shelter so beat up, or what Astrid's father did for malicious _fun_.

But being angry at Astrid, it's new. Really, he's been disappointed in her, when she beat herself up for getting 3rd at nationals. He's been irritated with her, because she's seemingly incapable of starting her physics homework earlier than the night before it's due. He's been upset with her, when she confessed to driving around her childhood neighborhood the week before Christmas.

But angry? Furious?

This is a completely new sensation, and he really, really hates it.

He hates looking at her and seeing anything less than affection or awe or how lucky he is. He hates feeling like he doesn't want to be around her, he hates having things he can't tell her.

He wishes finding someone else to talk to were _funny_. He wishes he could tell an amusing anecdote or something, about the time she showed him how disgusted she was by his leg, and how he went to the prosthesist to make himself look normal, and met someone who isn't as perfect as Astrid, but also doesn't think he's gross.

He might actually learn just how hard she can punch.

There's a burst of noise from the entryway and he walks down, laughing to himself at the ridiculous sight of his dad picking up Spike and allowing her to lick his face, gnawing at the beard on his chin. Toothless trots around the reunion, smiling nervously and running to Hiccup and back, jumping off of the fourth stair and landing surprisingly gracefully, pacing excitedly around his father.

Maybe Astrid is right, and Toothless is fine.

Maybe he can stop worrying about him.

"Henry! How are you doing?" Gerard pats him on the shoulder and he dodges the majority of the blow, grinning at him.

"I'm good, Dad, how was the flight?" The big man shrugs and takes off his overcoat, hanging it on a peg on the wall next to Astrid's fleece. His eyes fixate on a single shiny golden hair stuck to the black fabric like a flag.

He literally can't turn a corner, can't look anywhere without seeing something _Astrid_.

"I swear, even business class seats are smaller these days."

"Well, I never have that problem," Hiccup laughs, self-deprecating, and his father shrugs.

"I don't know, son," Gerard swipes a surprisingly affectionate hand over the top of his head, "You're bigger than when I left…or maybe just _taller_."

"Erm…thanks, dad," Hiccup nods awkwardly, stepping back.

He swears sometimes it's worse having his father be nice to him. Where things about him to critique were seemingly endless, things to praise are limited and run out entirely too quickly.

"So, where's Astrid?" He asks and before Hiccup can give away their doomed plan with some less than enthusiastic answer she chirps from the top of the stairs.

"Right here," she trots downstairs in a blue long-sleeved shirt and decidedly without her two new _companions_. "Hey, how was your trip? Please tell me you punched Montana like I asked you to." She grins and punches Gerard affectionately on his broad suit-clad shoulder, throwing a careless, casual arm around Hiccup and pulling him to her side.

"Astrid, unfortunately, Congress isn't yet a boxing ring," he grins with a booming laugh. She shrugs and pinches Hiccup's stiffened side, squeezing him almost to the point of pain. He coughs and Gerard looks at him concerned, "What's wrong son?"

"N-nothing—"

"Don't tell me that stutter is coming back," Astrid laughs, leaning up and kissing his cheek as chastely as possible before letting him go and picking the bag of take out from the nearby counter. "Yes, food, I'm so hungry," she prattles, almost too peppy, taking the bag to the dining room table and bustling to the kitchen to get plates.

Hiccup narrows his eyes, wandering almost pointedly slowly to the table and sitting down. He doesn't miss her glare as she nearly slams his plate down in front of him, sitting down at her usual spot across from him. Gerard sits at the head of the table and Hiccup has half a mind to just walk away. Beneath Astrid's overwhelmingly superficial grin, it honestly looks like she's going to murder him, and all that fear that somehow didn't stop him half an hour ago comes rushing back full force.

She picks up her fork, and he would swear she's thinking about driving it into his neck. Or something too malicious for him to comprehend.

God, now all he can imagine is a fork sticking out of his crotch.

He flinches in spite of himself.

"—cup? Hi-i-iccup?" Astrid sing-songs, malice expertly hidden under a layer of unbelievably seductive charm. He flushes and his dad laughs.

"What?"

"Do you want any fried rice?" She asks, speaking slowly, and he takes the cardboard carton silently. "So quiet tonight."

"Mmm," he answers noncommittally and Gerard nods, face overcome with fatherly concern.

"What's wrong?" He asks, and Astrid grins, more ferocious than worried.

"Yeah, Hiccup, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," he shrugs, raising his eyebrows and accepting the next thing Astrid passes him blindly.

"Really? Because you seem quiet," Astrid prods, taking a too large bite and swallowing it faster than should be possible.

"I'm alright," he grits his teeth and Toothless perks up from his pathetic begging spot by Hiccup's feet.

"A little constipated?" Astrid asks, beatific grin still plastered on her face as Gerard sits up straight, obviously shocked.

"Astrid—" Hiccup's father starts to chew her out and Hiccup pushes his chair back, standing up.

"It's ok, dad," he blurts, fumbling his phone out of his pocket. "I'm just going to go. Maybe I'll see you tonight? We can talk about—Who am I kidding? I'll see you when you get back from this trip. Next week at some point, right?" He asks, almost tripping as his prosthetic catches in the fringe of the Persian rug. His father almost stands with an anxious expression springing to the surface.

"Are you ok?"

"I'm fine, dad!" He laughs sarcastically, shaking his head as he backs away from the table, focusing in on Astrid. "Fine as Toothless, right Astrid?" He finds Heather's phone number in his contacts, hitting call as he pushes out the door into the garage.

Astrid taps her foot on the chair beside her as the table goes painfully silent.

"So, Astrid, what was that about?" Gerard asks quietly and she sneers at him.

"Absolutely nothing," she snaps, shoveling food into her mouth.

"Is everything alright between you two?" He asks and she shrugs violently.

"Fine and dandy."

"Somehow, I don't believe that," Gerard puts his fork down and looks meaningfully at Astrid. She sets her own utensil down and sits back flippantly, crossing her arms.

"Your powers of perception are _astounding_."

"Leave the sarcasm to Henry," Gerard cautions with an inappropriate snicker before forcing his expression back to serious. "What's going on?"

"Honestly, nothing I want to discuss with his father," Astrid laughs, staring enviously at her food and knowing that she's not going to be left to eat in freedom until she weasels her way out of this conversation.

"So bedroom troubles—"

"Don't finish that sentence," Astrid warns.

"You two are too young to be worried about that anyway," Gerard cautions fakely, and Astrid rolls her eyes.

"Come on," she lets her head flop back onto the back of the seat. "You were in high school once. Especially as a football player, I'd be surprised if there weren't a few cheerleaders—"

"Don't finish that," He cuts her off, sighing and shaking his head.

"And in case you're worried…there's not exactly anything to worry about," she can't help but lamenting, and Gerard looks at her confused.

"Are you—He wasn't just brushing me off last week when he said it wasn't an—that's—"

"No, we haven't…done—yeah," she blushes, looking anywhere but at Gerard.

"So that's the problem?" He asks bluntly and she slams a fist on the table, her temper momentarily overwhelming.

"Again, the problem isn't something I wanted to talk about with his parent," she reiterates bitterly.

"Astrid, you should wait as long as you want to, don't let him pressure you—" She scoffs, raising her eyebrows and turning to look at Gerard.

"Hiccup? Pressuring _me_?" She laughs, "What alternate reality is this happening in? Because I think I'd like tickets to that."

"So you're pressuring—"

"Not…not like—not anymore," she laughs, "I don't know what I'm doing now." She defiantly picks up her fork and takes a bite. "Oh, I got your old punching bag out by the way."

"Are you liking that?" Gerard settles on asking rather than following his previous line of inquiry.

"It's good. I mean, I need all the cardio I can get, but I can't afford to bulk up right now so, I think it might help." She explains quietly and he nods, resuming his dinner.

"You ready for Worlds? You're flying out at the end of the month, right?"

"Yeah, and I hope I'm ready. I ran a 5:05 mile in a workout last week, so add in adrenaline…"

"You'll be fine," he comforts her.

"I don't need a repeat of Nationals," she scoffs and Gerard looks at her sternly.

"You placed third—"

"My start was horrible and I tripped at the two mile. Not my best race," she enumerates and Gerard shakes his head.

"You were _third_."

"Stop saying that," she shoots him a dirty look before turning her focus back to her dinner.

00000

**So. **

**Lots happening here, including what's probably one of the worst fights we're going to see. **

**Hiccup plays dirty, but then again, what teenage guy doesn't say mean stuff when cornered…and most of them aren't nearly as quick-witted as Hiccup. **

**And now…Story Time from Foxy's life…mostly because I think it's ironic, and y'all are the crowd that will appreciate the irony. **

**So, right about the time I was finishing CT, I thought of the most epic long-con of my life. My plan, it was flawless, epic even, and would ensure me happiness in my time of need. I would write a sequel during the semester, then edit it and release it just in time to create buzz before finals. It would be amazing, It'd be like getting a pep talk while I was studying, I'd get to read reviews every once in a while without having the stress of finishing the next chapter. **

**And it was going splendidly, my first three chapters were well received and I was topping 40 reviews a chapter. Wow. Amaze. Much happy. Very relax. Then everything changed, the day before my triple back to back final. Chapter 4, while it garnered 25 amazing reviews (thanks!), my type A personality went completely insane and I was suddenly sure that everyone hated me because I only got two thirds of the normal turnout. I'm not stupid enough to complain about 150 reviews in 4 chapters, because that's the most amazing thing I've ever heard...it's just the irony that the one day I could really use some loving, things slow down. **

**So the moral of this story is…don't trust the long-con folks. And always buy more energy drinks than you need. **

**Lily has suffered a psychotic break. **

**I don't even know what Information systems means, and I've been in that class all semester. **

**Picard out. **


	6. Chapter 6

**I'm assuming due to the fact that reviews are down and hits are up that it's everyone's finals week. I hope any tests you take go well, but as a thank you for the 7000 word chunk I'm giving you, I'd really like you to drop me a review! It doesn't have to be anything big, but I've got a Fluids Mechanics test on Tuesday…and well, I need all the 'good job's I can get…**

**Thank you all in advance. **

00000

Hiccup sits down next to Heather on the downtown bench, shoving his hand in his pocket and clutching his hot cocoa more tightly.

"You do know that it's freezing out here, right?" He asks, and Heather laughs, the high pitched sound disconcertingly happy.

Astrid can kiss him on the cheek like that when she feels nothing. He feels like someone vacuumed the air out of his lungs, and he can't quite redeem it.

"If you would just choose where we were going…"

"Ok, ok, I won't complain," he burns his tongue on his drink, grimacing.

"So, what's with the urgent last minute need to do something?" She asks, shrugging the collar of her coat around her neck. It's a bright red wool thing with golden decorations on the pockets, and he briefly thinks that Astrid wouldn't be caught dead in it. "I take it you haven't gotten a new disastrous sock since yesterday."

"No…just, I had to get out of the house," he sighs, leaning back and staring too fixated at the steam rising through the hole in the top of his cup.

"Parent trouble?" She guesses and he shrugs, scoffing.

"Partially, but not really his fault."

"What happened?" She asks, her good foot swinging and brushing against the cold brick.

"I—I don't want to make it a big deal," he refuses.

"You already dragged me away from my math homework, I'd say it's a pretty big deal," she laughs and he looks at her seriously.

"Do you need to go do that?"

"Nah, it's due like second period tomorrow," she insists, leaning forward on a quest for good gossip.

"What kind of math is it?"

"Algebra 3…but I had the same class last year, no big deal," she brushes it off and he looks at her strangely. "What? Math isn't my thing. Anyway, tell me about this great problem."

"It's ok, really," he takes another sip of his cooled beverage and stares at a group of giggling teenage girls looking at a group of equally typical teenage boys. "Actually no. It's really not ok. Astrid is being…insane." He admits, happier than he should be to have it off of his chest.

"So girlfriend trouble," Heather nods sagely, taking a sip of her tea with a name Hiccup didn't dare try and pronounce.

"You could call it that."

"What's the deal with you two, anyway?" Heather asks, "You don't really seem like Astrid Hofferson's type."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"I don't know," She shrugs. "She dated Scott forever, right? And she's super jock-ey."

"She only dated Scott before me, two people don't exactly formulate a type." All he can think about, hearing the words out loud is that mythical second person he doesn't know about.

2. Why would she tell him her number is two if she wasn't just trying to torture him?

"I don't know, anyone who manages to date Scott can't exactly be a member of the brain trust, and you're like an honor student and everything, right?" Heather suggests and Hiccup raises his eyebrows at her.

"How did you know I'm an honor student?"

"News reports," she shrugs.

"_That's_ really creepy…" he trails off, feeling famous in the most skeeved out way possible, and wondering why they felt the need to broadcast his life story on the news. "And Astrid's smart. Second in our class, insane amount of AP classes."

"Smarter than you?" She asks and Hiccup shrugs.

"Different kind of smart."

"Why are you defending her if you're fighting?" Heather shrugs at his glare.

"I don't stop loving her because we're fighting," he mumbles and she raises her eyebrows.

"So you love her?" She taps her foot on the ground with a metallic clinking that's oddly out of sync with his own still knee. "Does she know that?"

"Of course she knows," he shrugs, unsure whether this inquisition is actually going to make him feel better or not.

"Does she love you?"

"She said it first," he almost brags and she frowns.

"What exactly are you two fighting about?" Heather asks, having exhausted her immediate guesses.

"Long story," he shakes his head.

"I have time," she shrugs, grinning. He briefly wonders how many times he's heard that in movies, and whether she liked saying it or not.

"That was my oh-so-clever way of getting out of telling you," he hedges and she cocks her head at him.

"Didn't work."

"Of course it didn't," he stares down at their feet. Two feet, four legs. He likes halves, they're almost as good as whole numbers, almost as tidy. "Anyway. Everything was great until Valentine's day—"

"Oh my god, did you forget about Valentine's day?"

"No, I did not forget. We went to dinner," he glares at her, "and then we came home to watch a movie and things got sort of…heated, and then the truth came out."

"What truth?" she prods.

"The fact that she doesn't exactly want to have sex with me," he mumbles and her mouth falls open.

"You two haven't had sex yet? After this long—"

"No! We haven't had sex yet," he cuts her off, bright red and embarrassed.

"Is it because of…you know?" Heather glances down at his leg, simultaneously validating his sanity and worst fears.

"From the way she looked at me? I'm pretty sure," he comments quietly and she shakes her head.

"Damn. I knew it was smart not to date yet."

"Thanks, for that," he rolls his eyes, curling further in on himself.

"Sorry, that was…I mean, have you tried talking to her about it?" She suggests, her doubts evident in the almost harsh raise in pitch of her voice.

"It's a _sensitive _topic," he shakes his head, chugging cocoa.

"Why? Does she like pretend you have two feet or something?" She laughs and he glares at that bite of insensitivity.

"No, she was there when it happened. I'm pretty sure she thinks it's her fault," he admits angrily and Heather backs off.

"Did she push down the building?"

"No, she was in the building, and…" he skips the part that they promised not to say out loud. The part that could get both their dogs treated as murder weapons. "I had to go in and get her, and well, she's a bit faster than me." He laughs humorlessly and Heather looks guiltily at her foot.

"I'm sorry," she mumbles and Hiccup can't help but love the quick apology turnover. "How…how does she think that's her fault?"

"She has this…_nobility_ issue," he can't help but grin to himself. Heather can't help but think no one will ever look that confused and intense about her.

"What? Is Prince Harry her brother?" She asks, confused, and Hiccup shakes his head.

"Nah, she's…" and the dam breaks. "She's determined that everything is on her, she's got this whole world on her shoulders _syndrome_. And she can't tell me when there's a problem until she's practically _combusting_. And she's…she doesn't understand why my leg bothers me. She always acts like I'm fine, and I guess she finally ran up against the end of…_that_."

"Sounds like you really love her," Heather comments and Hiccup nods.

"I do."

"Sounds like it kind of sucks," she adds, "I mean, are you a virgin?"

"What?" He shakes his head, "Who just asks that?"

"Whoa, I thought it was a joke," she defends and he glares at her. "Are you actually a virgin?"

"Aren't you?" He asks exasperated and she shrugs.

"Well yeah, but you're lower leg, and a guy, you could just keep your pants on," she suggests and he raises an eyebrow.

"I don't think I'd want to have sex with someone who couldn't bear the sight of me naked…" he hedges, wondering if it really sounds _that_ impossible.

"Good luck with _that_ one," she scoffs and he feels two inches tall. "Is yours…bad?" She asks quietly and he chews on his lip.

"Not really, I guess," he shrugs, gesturing randomly with his hands as he fails to describe what he wants to. "It's…all the damage happened below, it's all surgical."

"Oh…mine's probably a little messier than all of that," she shrugs, chipper as what he assumes is a defense mechanism. "The car accident crushed my knee, but I had burns up to here," she draws a line across mid-thigh with a finger on her jeans. "The scars used to be worse."

"I'm…sorry," he frowns, wondering what he was complaining about in the first place.

"It's alright," she shrugs, "I'm sorry about Astrid."

"I'm sure we'll make it through this," he asserts, just saying it making him more determined. "I mean, when we met, she was still with Scott and we figured out all that. And apparently we just got together right before, well…this," he pats his knee, and it's absolutely _freeing_ to talk about this.

"Apparently?" She asks. "You seemed kind of vague on it last night too."

"Yeah, I…I'm missing Halloween and November first," he admits with a shrug, "The doctors said they might come back eventually, but this far, I have some of the important things, but Astrid and my dad filled in the rest."

"I remember the accident," she bites her lip, taking the top off of her cup and tossing her tea-bag in the nearby trashcan. "I remember my car-seat was choking me, and my mom was _screaming_, and everything smelled how it tastes when you accidently bite a spoon."

Hiccup nods at a loss of what to say. It's something to make his story feel so…small.

"That's…"

"Yeah, sorry," she laughs, "It's a bit much to tell you on only our second date."

"Date?" He asks, leaning away from her with enough speed to make his neck ache.

"Date?" She looks at him strangely before laughing, embarrassed. "Oh my god, I can't believe I just said that. I meant second time hanging out," she shakes her head and hides her face in her hands like someone just put her baby pictures on the eight o'clock news.

"Oh, good," he sighs relieved, wiping a hand across his forehead. "How awkward would it be if you thought this was a date, but we spent half the time talking about my girlfriend?" He laughs before she can answer, shaking his head.

"Yeah, just a mistake, promise," she gestures at her chest as though she were trying to form the catholic cross and gives up. "Or whatever means you're telling the truth."

"Stick a needle in your eye?"

"Eww, why?" she reels, affronted and he laughs, still riding the high of almost embarrassment.

"You know, 'Cross your heart and hope to die, stick a needle in your eye'?" he asks, "At my elementary school, it meant you were seriously honest."

"Wow, then I guess it's definitely legit," she nods falsely serious, seemingly unable to wipe the sniggering from her expression. A laugh slips out and she covers her mouth with her palm.

"Yeah, so…you said you had math homework?" He should get home and talk to Astrid. He shouldn't stay out any later. He's still tired from last night.

"Yeah, I do…Do you wanna go bowling?" She asks, looking around and gesturing to the fancy looking lit up bowling alley above them.

"I refuse to be the excuse for you not getting your homework done," he laughs, honestly confused by her cavalier response. He guesses it's not normal to be as _driven_ as he and Astrid, but he's used to schedules and plans.

"I told you, it's due second period. I can copy one of my friends' in first," she shrugs, standing and offering him a hand to pull him to his feet. He takes it and is surprised by the distinct lack of yank as he pushes himself up.

"One condition," he hedges and she shrugs. "We bowl one round or whatever, and then you let me help you with your homework."

"Ugh, it's not like it'll help, my teacher has it out for me," she warns him.

"What do you mean your teacher has it out for you?"

"She won't give me good grades on anything, no matter what I do," she starts heading towards the bowling alley with a quicker click-thump than his own.

"Algebra 3, you said?" He manages to suppress his urge to judge. Not everyone charges at things that challenge them like Astrid.

He really does love that _charge_.

"Yeah, freaking hell math," she complains and he shakes his head.

"I could tutor you, if you want," he offers.

"We'll talk about if after you probably kick my ass at bowling," she submits and he grins in spite of himself at the assumption.

"Wow, are you sure you're really a jock? Admitting defeat before we even start?"

"That's what you think," she grins, almost cockily as she lets him lead the way to the wide double doors.

00000

"Are you ok, Astrid?" The other runners of girl's distance track mass loosely around Astrid, joining her in stretching. A nervous sophomore points out her scowl with the gentle question and she shrugs unconvincingly.

"Long week," Astrid laughs dryly.

"But it's only Wednesday," Ally, the freshman with potential, points out and Astrid stares at the ground.

"Exactly."

"Is everything ok with Henry?" A brunette girl asks and Astrid shrugs, bitter. God, he was so mad when he left last night. She heard him walk in around ten, and she could swear that he paused by her closed bedroom door for a second before proceeding down the hallway.

She wishes he'd tried to talk to her.

She wishes he'd apologized, and she'd sucked everything up and apologized. Maybe they could have even just fucked, and they could go back to where they were a week ago.

"Sometimes, boyfriends are more trouble than they're worth," she instructs sagely, glancing under her arm at the group of boys obviously gossiping about _her_. It feels good, in a disgusting sort of way, but the attention is better than the misery of home. Apparently two days of having boobs is enough to restart the rumor mill on all cylinders. Sadly, most of the rumors gravitate towards Hiccup's awesome fortune, but she doesn't know what exactly she'd like more.

Half of her regrets the rash actions, but the other half craves the high of being the center of attention. At least she holds the reins. She chooses what she shows and what she doesn't, and at least everyone reacts the way she expects them to.

She poses, they stare. It's the natural order of things.

She bends more deeply into her stretch, arching her back in a way that's anything but innocent. The tittering behind her gets louder and she flushes with power.

"What happened?" Someone asks her, and luckily it seems no one in her immediate group has caught onto her little scheme. She guesses it's a boy's club sort of thing at the moment, and that's probably for the best. Right now, these girls and Ruff are pretty much the only people she can talk to, and Ruff can really be too harsh to be helpful.

She bends to the side, her hamstring lengthening luxuriously as her sweatshirt rides up her side, exposing the tender skin above her hip to the chill. She shivers as the volume increases. She can't handle the power like she used to be able to, and somehow that seems like a _good_ thing.

"He said some…mean things," Astrid hedges diplomatically. "So did I but…you know how guys can be." She deflects the blame and the greatest perk of sanctioned sisterhood is exemplified in the group's commiserating nods.

"Well, if you two can't work it out, there's no hope for the rest of us," someone inputs and Astrid scoffs, hating herself more than a little bit as she rotates back to bending straight forward. She folds herself alluringly, her running shorts riding up almost too far and the cold air tickling high on the back of her legs.

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

"Come on, you two are so cute together. He's all smart and gimpy and you're all belligerent," Ally adds to the conversation like she's telling a fairytale and Astrid frowns, her posture normalizing.

Belligerent.

It's true, and she likes it more than _hot_ or anything, but smart and gimpy seem inherently _better_.

Hiccup has always been _good_.

They should just…talk. They've always been good at talking, even when it was weird, even when it was something unnatural, something out of bounds of what she should have been doing.

She wonders now if not talking is some horrible harbinger of the end of a relationship, and she just spent two years delaying the inevitable with Scott.

"Yeah," a junior adds, "We all like looking at Scott, but who wouldn't _want_ a Henry?" They all titter and nod and Astrid's never been so glad for Gobber to interrupt and explain that day's work out.

Of course she's stuck with some hellish mile sets while everyone else gets to go accumulate mileage, but she can't exactly be mad. She's got World's soon, and somehow the punishing workout seems oddly _just_. Astrid walks inside briefly to retrieve her water from the locker room before jogging outside, and down to the track.

None other than Tuff Thorston is standing there, looking smug with a blue stopwatch in hand.

"Erm, hey Tuff," she greets, dropping her water bottle on the spring soggy grass and walking over to the empty starting line of the track. "What are you doing?" He shrugs and grins smarmily, "here, with my stopwatch."

"I asked to time you," he explains flatly and she narrows her eyes at him, wanting to ask a question that she can't seem to formulate.

"Don't you have baseball practice?"

"I asked to time you." He grins and repeats himself.

"You said that," she recognizes that shit-eating grin, having seen it trotted out in front of dozens of freshmen cheerleaders. A part of her feels suddenly fourteen and naïve as she narrows her eyes.

"You know, _the code_," he whispers conspiratorially, pushing his long blonde hair away from his face and leaning closer. "I asked to _time_ you."

"The code?" She takes a step back, dread building ominously in the pit of her stomach.

"Yeah. The code. You know, I time you and then you do kinky things that may or may not break my arm."

She blinks slowly as the world spins out of focus.

"What?"

"Come on—"

"Did Hiccup put you up to this?" She spits, crossing her arms and fighting twin urges to sprint away and punch as hard as she can.

"No, I was kind of hoping he wouldn't be here," he _leers_ and Astrid's lip curls. "Why, is he here?"

God, she asked for this, didn't she?

This is what flirting with everyone and showing the _goods_ she doesn't even have will get her.

Tuff is hitting on her. _Tuff Thorston_.

Tuff.

Ruff's brother. Captain of nonsequiturs and whores.

Tuff.

"No, Hiccup isn't here," she shakes her head.

"So…then what do you say?" He raises his eyebrows and she scoffs, inwardly wishing that she was wearing a burqa.

"What do I say?" She asks rhetorically, nausea pooling in her gut. "I say go fuck a cactus, Tuff."

"So, you are kinky," he grins before fully realizing what she just suggested. 'That would be very much painful though."

"Yeah, I know," she scuffs the toe of her shoe against the red clay, simultaneously embarrassed and full of veiled rage. "Kind of the point."

"Dude, Scott never told me how crazy you are!" He revels in his imagined good fortune, and her fist collides with his jaw before she can stop it.

She doesn't try to stop the second, third, and fourth hits.

Or the fifth.

The sixth punch feels particularly rewarding and she grins maliciously, cradling her fist as Gobber charges down the hill, obviously enraged. Tuff groans and spits out a tooth, blood pouring down his chin in satisfying crimson tributaries.

Astrid laughs, stretching her fingers and watching the blood flow out of her split first knuckle. The others are definitely bruised, but her first is genuinely streaming, blood dripping from her fingertips onto the clay of the track.

"Astrid! Can't ye go a season wi'out—" Gobber yells and Astrid bursts back into her indignance, glaring ferociously at Tuff.

"He actually deserved it!" She defends, bloody hands on cocked hips.

"Tell me then, wot exactly did he do?" Gobber looks nervous, and Astrid wonders how many people she can punch before she gets arrested.

"He _propositioned_ me," she spits, glaring at Tuff as her knuckle starts genuinely throbbing.

"He what?" Gobber squawks.

"Whath propathithon mean?" Tuff lisps, probing the newly raw and ragged gap in his lower teeth.

"It means you tried to get me to have sex with you."

"Oh, yeah. I did that," Tuff admits tactlessly, and Gobber cuffs him in the back of the head with his artificial hand. Astrid can't help but think Tuff's head sounds like a rotten log being hit with a ball peen hammer.

"Git outta here," Gobber sighs and Astrid feels _parented_.

"She knocked my toof out!"

"Leave or I'll make it symmetrical!" Astrid roars and Tuff looks at her quizzically.

"Whath thymetrical?"

"Seriously boy-o—" Gobber puffs up and Tuff rubs his three brain cells together, backing away. He stoops to pick up his dismembered tooth, tucking the bloody nugget in his pocket and sulking away.

"He deserved it," Astrid claims again, hissing slightly as her hand brushes against the polyester of her shorts.

"I wish next time ye'd punch wit words? Or something like that?" Gobber asks, holding his hand out and reaching for her bleeding knuckle. She gently rests it on his fingers, flinching at the contact against the throbbing, too sensitive skin. "Ye might need stitches."

"I don't need stitches, it's just swollen," she defends, suddenly reeling as she realizes she doesn't know the state of her health insurance.

Suddenly that entire scope of health that's always seemed guaranteed spins out of focus and she wonders what would happen if she broke her leg, got hit by a car. Would Gerard have to pay? Would he? After how she acted the night before, it doesn't seem like a given.

It's one thing to protect your son's girlfriend, and another to look after some _girl_.

Just some girl.

"I said ye _might_ need stiches," he carefully pulls his hand away from hers. "Go get that wrapped up," he orders, "And I want ye te put in six miles before tomorrow, I'll reschedule your workout." Astrid frowns, wanting to tell him that she can still run, that she's fine, but her hand starts to ache in earnest.

"I could still put in a mile or two," she offers, hissing as she stupidly pokes at the wound, curious to see if she can touch bone. She can feel the hard nub of her knuckle too close under her finger and she pulls back, feeling strange.

"Well, I want ye te do six, later, after ye're not bleeding all over my track," he orders and Astrid sighs.

"I'll…see you tomorrow," she pouts, picking up her water bottle and slumping away up the hill.

"And Astrid?" Gobber calls after her and she turns around, "Nice punch."

"I told you, he deserved it," she shrugs, almost grinning to herself as she pushes inside and walks grudgingly down the hall to the nurse's office.

Half an hour later, she has a gauze oven-mit for a hand and she's climbing awkwardly into the car, clumsily grabbing the wheel and pulling out of the parking lot. The drive home is quiet, permeated by the steady throbbing beat of her knuckles, and she can't quite seem to turn on the radio. She knows the last person who had it on in here was Hiccup, and she doesn't think she can bear to hear his favorite after-school DJ announce anything.

That'd be salt in the wound.

Pulling into the driveway feels like coming home and her heart absolutely aches. She's going to go in and apologize, at least for the bra thing. That was ridiculous.

She just…

She's humiliated, in pain, and she needs a hug. Is that really so hard to admit? Is that really so awful that she wants to walk inside and curl up in Hiccup's arms and pretend that her hand doesn't hurt like the _blazes_?

After the last few days, it does seem awful. She feels like she's gone months back in time, but is somehow still aware of the absolute relief it is to be _hugged_.

She pushes inside, holding her injured hand high above her head and out of reach of the dogs frantically greeting her with worried licks. Spike slurps worriedly at the wiped blood on her leg and she coos comfortingly, dodging away from their attention and heading back to her bedroom, eager to set down her backpack.

Hiccup's bedroom door is open and she sees his eyes widen as he peeks around the doorframe. She can't tell whether it's childish or necessary when she ignores him, dropping her bag and flopping back on the bed. It's clockwork when he appears in the doorway, sheepishly standing back as she turns to look at him.

"What's with the hand?" he asks and she shrugs, feeling awkward.

"I punched someone really _really_ hard," she laughs in spite of herself, closing her eyes and holding her hand above her head in the hopes that it might alleviate some of the throbbing pain.

"Who did you punch?" he asks, and she groans.

"Tuff."

"You punched Tuff?" He has to laugh at that mental image, "What exactly—Why?"

"He tried to get me to have sex with him," Astrid admits honestly, surprised by the emotive catch in her throat. She wishes he would come in here and help her. Just…do his Hiccup thing and make the world better and less insane.

"He what?" Hiccup asks, exasperated and Astrid sits up, staring him down.

"He tried to get me to have sex with him," she repeats.

"How hard did you punch him?" He asks quietly and she grins.

"Knocked his tooth out."

"Sometimes, I really love you," he slips up before he can stop himself. Her face falls.

"Sometimes?" She wonders aloud and he steps forward, fully into her room.

"All the time," he mumbles, and she holds out her bandaged hand as an Olive Branch.

"Aren't you going to make sure I'm ok?" She offers and he steps closer, taking his wrist with those gentle fingers. Her shoulder feels like it's on fire and she shifts on the edge of the bed, wiggling her fingers slightly within the gauze.

"Why the…boxers glove?" He asks and she grins lightly.

"I split open my first knuckle on his stupid jaw."

"Some punch," he whistles lowly, handing her back the appendage and wringing his hands. She looks at him awkwardly and nods slowly.

"Guess…I'm not proud about the last couple of days," she admits quietly and he lets the words sink in. Lets the words do quiet battle with the rough memories of gossip and undeserved, creepy pats on the back. Lets himself compare it to every mean thing she's said.

And everything he's said.

"Yeah," he agrees quietly, thoughts of what he's been doing the past couple of nights welling up in his throat.

"I…I don't want…" She starts, pushing her bangs off of her forehead, frustrated. "I'm sick of whatever this is."

"Me too," he agrees, unsure of whether it's a good idea to sit down next to her or not. She's probably warm, and even from here, her undefinable Astrid aura is drowning out some of his intelligent thoughts. "I have something to tell you," he admits, hating how her cheeks go white.

"Why do I feel like that's bad?" She asks, her answering laugh semi-hysterical.

"It's not…It—I don't like having a secret," he admits and she cautiously pats the bed next to her.

"Sit down," she offers and he listens, pulling her towards him into the sag of the mattress. "What's this secret?"

"I sort of have a new friend, I guess?" He offers and she turns towards him, interested. "I met her at Dr. Conners on Monday, and I didn't feel like coming back here—" he stops talking, eyes widening. She bites her lip and stares at him sympathetically.

"Keep going."

"And we went and hung out and stuff, saw a movie, went bowling…" he almost grins to himself but cuts the expression short.

"Sounds…nice," she mumbles, trying to quell the deep sense of envy knowing that he was out enjoying himself while she was sitting at home hating everything.

"I mean, it's weird," he laughs quietly, "but she…she gets stuff that no one else does, you know?" He blushes and she nods, attempting to be understanding.

"What's…what's she seeing Dr. Conners for?" Astrid asks and Hiccup shrugs.

"Left, above the knee." He states in some shorthand that's already making her feel out of some imaginary loop.

"Oh…well, what's her name?" Astrid asks, the malicious half of her brain praying that it's _Gretchen_ or something else horrible.

"Heather," Oh, well that's a _pretty_ name, "She's a Junior over at South." He finishes and she nods, tight lipped.

"And you guys have lots to talk about?" She asks, trying for concerned and feeling she falls short. Somewhere between obscenely and wildly jealous.

Closer to obscenely.

She tries to clench habitual fists and her knuckle throbs.

"Yeah, it's…they aren't exactly the most fun conversations in the world, but I think they're helping," he adds quietly and she nods, almost reaching for his hand before deciding against it. She can't tell whether it's more painful that he thinks she can't help him, or that he found someone who probably can.

"Helping with what exactly?" She asks, hoping that she can shove that door of communications back wide open. He can talk to her, right?

Did she ever make him feel like he can't talk to her?

Probably, and she hates herself for that.

She hasn't felt a kick this large since she realized Hiccup woke up without her there.

"Just…coping, I guess," he submits and she furrows her eyebrows.

"You can ask me for help coping," she reminds him, biting her lower lip until she can almost taste blood, glancing sidelong at his face.

"I know, it's just…she gets it."

"I can't get it if you don't tell me," she tells him quietly, and sees that little flick of worry close his eyes off to her once again.

"I don't ever think you'd get it, Astrid." The room goes cold and her eyes widen.

"What's that supposed to mean?" She grumbles, her voice dark and misty.

"It means that what I talk about with Heather and why we didn't—"

"Oh, really? You tell Heather about how you don't have sex with girls that _attack_ you in their underwear?" She asks accusingly, springing to her feet.

"Girls?" He lurches off of her bed and puts his finger on his chin, jokingly pensive. "I'm pretty sure that's only happened once. The plural is probably you."

"What?" She asks, blood running cold.

"Just thinking about the fact that I probably don't even know how many guys you've crawled on in your underwear. I mean, the all-important number is 2, but what does that include?" He throws the low blow before thinking about it, dropping it like a too heavy weight he shouldn't have tried to pick up in the first place.

She wants to cut him off. Anything is better than listening to him finishing that sentence.

Two. Why did she say two? Why couldn't she lie?

It'd be better if it were 25. It'd be better if she'd lied and said 1.

Her tongue is glued to the roof of her mouth with paste. It's dry and clammy, like she swallowed a mouthful of flour.

"Do you want a fucking list, Hiccup?" She grumbles after a too long moment, and he stares through her, angry, nostrils flared.

"Yeah, should I go buy you a bigger hard drive for your computer? Because I don't think you should kill _that_ many trees." He offers flippantly and she punches him unthinking, her gauze wrapped hand thunking uselessly against his arm while she hisses frantically in pain.

"Fuck you, seriously." She nearly screeches, voice falling apart in her throat like crumbling dried out clay. "Seriously. Go fuck yourself."

He realizes he's lunged a step too far as soon as he sees her face.

"Astrid, I—"

"What? You really think you can just _rescind_ that?" She wrings her hands, shaking almost violently as she shoulders past him, smacking into the doorframe with a solid thwack as her coordination fails her.

"Astrid," he tries one more time, almost not recognizing the hectic and dissolved girl in front of him.

"Leave me alone, alright?"

And she's off.

Six miles is hell. It's five minutes and three hours all at once, with her knuckle gushing blood through the gauze on her hand. It's too soon, and too cold, and she's going too fast.

She tries to track the path of when things went wrong. For months they were great, borderline adventurous. She remembers one time when Hiccup caught her after the shower, and he was almost forceful, hands still tentative on her shoulders as he pressed her against the door and kissed the collarbone that was only rarely left exposed.

Somehow, that was fine, almost thrilling even. She remembers spending the next week in a half in tank tops hoping that he'd work up the courage to do it again.

Something about Valentine's Day, and all that entailed. The romance, the date, it was like being _bought_. And then when he reached underneath her clothes, diving beneath that until now untouched barrier. Suddenly she lost her last row of trenches, that final barrier of protection became soft, a cotton ball brick wall where there'd once been barbed wire.

And now?

Now she doesn't see how to get back. She fell off the cliff when all she needed to do was bite the bullet and fall back on an ancient spiel. She should have just been receptive, and done what she had to do to keep him close, to keep him happy. She should have smiled and been fine.

She's only now starting to realize how messed up this really is.

She'd give anything to fix it. She hates the idea of revealing anything else.

Her lungs feel like hamburger when she finally crushes back through the door, pointedly ignoring Toothless's attention.

It's disgusting, and she hates herself. He's a dog, not his owner, but she resents everything having to do with Hiccup's stupid green eyes and fucking adorable laugh.

Fuck him.

Fuck everything about him.

She storms into her room, slamming the door so hard that it springs back open, cracked against the doorframe.

Maybe it's true. Astrid curls into the fetal position on the bed she most definitely doesn't deserve, tugging the comforter over her sweating, panting head and stewing in the dark. Maybe if she stays in here long enough, she'll be like a tough cut of meat in a slow cooker.

She'll come out wonderfully tender and heated through to a sterile 180 degrees Fahrenheit.

She tugs a pillow over her head, groaning into the cotton as everything plays back in her mind.

Why?

Why did she act like that at school? And when she bent over at practice? Ridiculous.

Hiccup's probably right, as horrible as that is. She must be a slut. Not only does she apparently need a disgusting horde of drooling boys to feel worthwhile, but well…

She attracted her own parent, didn't she?

The words flow through her mind in a horrible deadly rush and she sobs, unable to choke it back. Maybe…maybe that's the entire problem. Maybe it's really that simple and horrible and unavoidable.

She curls more tightly into a ball, opening her eyes and staring into the pillow over her face like the impenetrable depths of space.

That _man_ was the last person to touch her. The memory of failure, pain, and weakness is scalded into her skin like a brand. She can remember, almost taste, the fear as her knee throbs futilely, wedged between hopes of winning state and protecting herself.

She remembers focusing on Hiccup's steady mild hands that same night, covering the pain with every too gentle touch.

And now she's fucked that up too, and the golden girl is a lumpy, misshapen _leftover _wrapped in spray painted foil.

God, even now, her fury hasn't faded at the thought of Hiccup. Just because it's technically _correct_, and she is undeniably more disgustingly experienced than he is, he can't say that kind of thing to her. He can't start acting like any other guy, talking to other girls behind her back.

Who is this girl anyway?

Besides being probably utterly perfect for Hiccup in every fucked up cliché way she can't bear.

She needed to be fooled tonight, she needed to be tricked into thinking that perfect exists. She wanted to be duped, deceived into thinking there's at least one person out there willing to be trusted.

That's the worst part. She trusted him whole-heartedly.

She can think of a million things to throw back in his face.

He's acting like he's on his period. He couldn't cheat on her anyway because he flirts like a kindergartner. He's a mathlete, and his wolf is a puppy dog who pees in the house.

And even if she lost her virginity, he lost his _leg_.

She could never throw it in his face like that, it'd be like stabbing herself.

He's the only person who she _can't_ seem to hurt, and the only one who can hurt her like this.

Having her heart ripped out of her chest isn't nearly as bad as her brain tumbling out of her head. She _trusted_ him. She told him things she's never told anyone. She let him inside, unlocked all the doors but the attic and let him have at it. He'd discovered wings she never knew she had, filled with compassion and laughter and empathy.

She can feel them refilling with cobwebs.

Too bad psycho, slutty, fucked-up Astrid was hidden in the attic, primed to come down as soon as she slammed the door in his face.

And Tuff hit on her.

She wishes she'd done a better job on those teeth.

Her hand throbs madly and she mashes it against the sheets, trading blood stains for momentary burst of pain. It's horrible and nasty and undeniably pathetic, and she sobs louder than she'd like to.

Hiccup's probably already gone, probably already out telling Heather all about tonight.

She wonders what would happen if she packed up right now and went home. Just waltz downstairs and sit next to her dad on the couch while he watches CNN.

She wonders if he's really sober this time, and if he still _wants_ her. She wishes no one would want her ever again.

In that moment, Astrid hates everything that she saw in the mirror this morning. She hates her shiny blonde hair that broadcasts false innocence. The skinny short frame that makes her seem _weak_. She hates how the delicate bridge of her nose _begs_ to be shattered and how her lips practically _want _to be split.

She hates looking like a victim, hates having to broadcast strength and stubbornness with every move. She just…

She hates everything weak about her expression, teary eyed and vulnerable as she sobs ragged and miserable into her pillow.

She hates how her hair falls in her eyes, defiant and out of her control. She hates the sporadic freckles across her flushed nose, and how they remind her of Hiccup's infernally gentle fingers on her face while she pretended to be asleep.

Most of all, she loathes that looking at her couldn't keep Hiccup happy. All the beauty in the world can't mask a truly shitty personality.

She's not sure when she falls asleep. Not sure when silent moping turns into actual dozing, and her eyes fly open in a dark panic at her perceived lack of air some indeterminable amount of time later. She shoves the comforter over her head and Spike flies up to meet her face, licking her kindly. Toothless is curled on the other side of the bed, staring at her concerned. She pats his head and glances at the clock.

3:34.

She feels disgusting. She hasn't showered. Her hand is soaked in rust colored dried out blood flakes.

She's not going to be able to go back to sleep.

She stands methodically, warily unwrapping the sullied gauze and holding her hand carefully in front of her chest as she slumps to the bathroom. She strips and turns on the shower, climbing under the still cold water and washing herself almost roughly until she can almost forget everything that she realized earlier.

Almost.

She walks back to her room, slowly pulling pajamas over her still wet skin, shivering in the drafty dark house. Astrid turns and stares at the two dogs curled around each other in the middle of her bed, snoring in that endearing, wheezy, canine way.

Toothless came in to comfort her, and in spite of everything, she's struck with the fact that Hiccup is alone.

She shouldn't care, but she does, and it feels like a chronic illness.

It's not entirely her choice when she turns and walks across the hall, opening Hiccup's bedroom door and standing beside his bed with her arms crossed. She reaches down, tentatively shaking his shoulder until his bleary eyes open and hers fill with unwelcome tears.

Water drips from her hair onto the floor with a steady beat.

"Astrid?" he squints to see her, and she bites her tongue from asking who else it would be. She's not sure she wants that answer.

"Scoot over," she commands quietly, her voice rougher and more pathetic than she'd like.

"What?" He yawns, and she doubts he'll remember any of this by morning.

"Look. I don't want to look at you, and I definitely don't want to talk to you," she starts strong, lip curling in self-loathing. "But I can't sleep…so scoot over." He complies and she hates herself when she curls up in bed beside him, instantly soothed by the rustle of warm breath on the back of her neck.

When she's sure he's asleep, she reaches back and grabs his hand, dragging it over her waist and holding it until she's sure her knuckles are bone white under the blankets.

Sleep is a relief. A horrible relief.

00000

**So, sorry about the 7000 word chapter here. There was really no good place to split this up, so you guys just get a doozy where a bunch of stuff happens. **

**Thanks so much for your continued support, and I just wanted to shout out to anonymous reviewer 'Lily' and say that I'm sorry your story didn't have a happy ending! And someone asked about the red and green death thing, and I have to say I don't know. I know that on the movie soundtrack, there's a song called "Battling the Green Death" but in RoB, Dagur calls it the red death…so if anyone has a better answer I'd love to hear it! **

**Thanks so much, and Chapter 7 will be up on Wednesday! **


	7. Chapter 7

**First off…ready for another 7k word chapter? This thing edited long…**

**Secondly, you guys are completely amazing. The response for the last chapter absolutely bowled me over, and I have to thank each and every one of you who reviewed and made me feel completely amazing. Thank you! **

**I can't believe that my sixth chapter broke sixty reviews. I'm the luckiest author in the world.**

**And thank you to Midoriko-sama for beta-ing this big boy. **

00000

Honestly, it's a reprieve to be wholly focused on her own hunger rather than dwelling over everything Hiccup has and hasn't said to her in the last almost week. '_Hold the door_,' what does that even mean?

And last night.

God, waking up this morning was awkward. He was spooning her, and hugging her so tightly she couldn't slip away without waking him. She had to kick him in the shin and practically launch herself out of bed to turn off that hyper-annoying alarm that he never hears.

The way he looked at her in those dreary moments before he remembered _everything_…she was the happiest she's been since last week. She wanted to yell at him not to smile at her, wanted to slap that grin off of his drowsy face and tell him that she's practically using him as a space heater.

She wants to say a million hurtful things, wants to make this somehow _even_.

She hates the thought of hurting him. She just wants to forget her problems, she wants to pretend that everything is…copasetic, at least for a few hours of lying to herself.

That was going…well, she was making progress rolling the rock uphill until she came to school today, and saw all the posters for the girls' choice dance on Friday. Tomorrow. A girls' choice dance, and she has a boyfriend who she can't look in the eye for three hours straight.

Or five minutes straight.

Ok, fine. She can't look him in the face at all.

Everyone looks so happy, dramatically asking boys out and smiling.

Smiling is weird anyway. Oh, so happy people now just show their teeth at everyone.

Fucking Biology. Fucking science.

Fucking Hiccup.

No use in thinking about that right now.

She turns the corner, checking her watch and looking forward to half an hour alone with her lunch, and almost runs head long into none other than Scott Nout.

"Aah!" She yelps, scuttling backward and standing abreast of him at six feet, collecting her thoughts.

"Hey, Astrid," he gives her his most winning grin and steps towards her, and she warily takes a step back.

"What do you want Scott?" She blurts, subconsciously smoothing a hand over her famished stomach and looking anywhere but at the football player in front of her.

"Who says I want anything?" He asks and she rolls her eyes.

"You always want something."

"You know me so well," he's too friendly, reaching into his pocket and producing a snarled handful of elastic. "So, I cleaned out my car last week—"

"First time this millennia?" She asks, hating the sarcasm even as it forces its way out of her mouth.

"No, I wasn't even alive when Jesus was born," he sighs before continuing, "Anyway, I found a bunch of your hair thingies and figured you might want them back." Astrid reaches towards the offering before stopping herself.

"Wait, how do you know that they're mine?"

"Oh, I don't let other bitches in my ride," he shrugs and she looks at him doubtfully. "And other girls wear like, pink sparkly ones anyway." He shrugs and she cautiously reaches out, grabbing the handful of hair ties with as little bare skin contact as possible. Shockingly, he doesn't try to grab her hand or anything, and she visibly relaxes.

"Thanks Scott," she tries to mute the obvious shock in her voice.

Thanking Scott Nout. Is she in some alternate dimension in some Sci-fi show Hiccup blushingly insisted on watching?

Thinking about Hiccup makes her unreasonably angry and she edges a careless step forward, daring herself to continue the conversation with Scott.

"It was pretty crazy, I must have found 400 of those hair thingies," he tells her excited, and all the barely there conversations that evaporated into lackluster making out rush back at her full force.

She misses Hiccup.

"You only gave me like 20," she mumbles, and imagines the crowd behind them whispering louder than is really possible.

Scott and Astrid are talking. Scott and Astrid are as _cute_ together as they ever were.

Ugh.

"Same difference," he shrugs, and for a second it seems like even Scott feels the awkward lack of anything in the air between them.

"So…erm, no attempts to hit on me today?" She asks, and wonders if all the non-physical game she ever had evaporated as soon as Hiccup became endearing.

"Well, if you want me to—"

"It was a joke, I don't want you to hit on me—"

"I did prepare a little something, and it is pretty good," he finishes despite her best efforts and she raises an eyebrow.

"You _prepared _something?"

"You said you didn't want me to hit on you," he reminds her smugly and she laughs in spite of herself.

"Since when do you listen to me?"

"Since _never_," he reminds her adamantly, before stumbling over his words. "So…er…the line then," he introduces, voice full of false bravado, "It's not really a line—"

"I don't need an introductory paragraph. Come on, you don't normally take so long to try and woo me."

"Well, Hiccup's normally giving me a death glare, and it'd be mean to not at least _pretend _to take that seriously."

"Are you saying Hiccup's glares aren't serious?" She asks, suddenly angry.

Great, even now she's defending him…and missing him.

"Well, with the whole _leg_ thing—"

"You have about five seconds to say what you _prepared_," she glances at her watch, superficial and not seeing the actual numbers on the clock face.

"I was thinking about you when I found all those hair thingies, and I realized that I like how yours are just sort of blonde instead of all tricked out," Scott blurts and Astrid cocks her head.

"What?"

"I mean, I like how you always already knew you were pretty, so you didn't try to fake everyone out with pink hair thingies and stuff," he finishes, handsome face flushed and Astrid wrinkles her nose, stepping backward.

"Oh."

"It's not my best line," he laughs, and Astrid shrugs awkwardly.

"No, it's…you really shouldn't be saying stuff like that to me, Scott."

"I shouldn't be calling you pretty—"

"Yeah, that. You definitely shouldn't be calling me pretty," Astrid shuts him down, face flushing as she pushes her hair out of her face.

"Well, it's true—"

"Yeah, yeah, if being pretty were the solution, I'd have no problems," she scoffs too quietly and Scott puts on his best interested face.

"What? Are you cluing me into some _boy_ problems or something?"

"No, nothing like that," Astrid brushes him off with a wave of her hand, the ball of hair ties strangely comforting in her palm. "It's just…you were easy to date."

"Right?" Scott agrees, throwing his arms out enthusiastically. "It seems like all other girls like need hours to leave their house, and make me talk to their _dads_ before we go anywhere—"

"Well, nothing easy is worth it," Astrid spouts like a greeting card, her heart dropping into her stomach. "And I shouldn't be talking about this with you," she thinks about shoving past him, but something sticks her feet to the floor.

Three years doesn't just _melt_ overnight, does it?

Or maybe it was six months that melted over two and a half years.

In the moment, she's remarkably vacant and horrifyingly unsure.

"If you need to talk we could go somewhere more private—"

"No, Scott."

"What? Earlier you wanted me to hit on you—"

"And now I feel empty inside," she snarks, the sarcasm subconsciously and defiantly allegiant.

"Do you want to be less empty inside?" Scott asks smarmily, hip thrusting towards Astrid suggestively. It's reflex when she reaches out and slugs him in the arm, flushing at the traitorous and unfamiliar contact.

"Shut _up_."

She wishes she were punching Hiccup.

"Look, Tuff and I are hitting up a party in Boulder tonight, do you want to come and look for some new dick or something?" Scott offers, and Astrid can't help but see the concession hiding in his words.

"Like Tuff wants to talk to me," she laughs, showing him her bruised and mangled hand. "And by new _dick_," she shakes her head, "do you mean you're going to get me really drunk and use some hair gel and call yourself Enrique or something?" She asks, horrified at the simplicity of the thought. "Not that I need new…Erm, Hiccup and I are still dating."

"I'd have a cooler name than Enrique, Astrid," Scott ensures indignantly and Astrid rolls her eyes.

"What, Ricardo?"

"And if you and Hiccup are still dating, why aren't you talking?" Scott asks bluntly, ignoring the Ricardo comment, determined.

"None of your business," Astrid crosses her arms, rocking away from him on her heels.

She doesn't remember the magic of Scott Nout, it's once overwhelming power hardly a breeze in the hallway.

"Well, I've got stuff to do—"

"Don't you always?" Astrid drawls, offense feeling far better than defense.

"Give me a call about the party tonight, if you change your mind," Scott offers and Astrid flushes, pushing her hair off of her forehead.

"I won't be changing my mind," she assures him, shoving the handful of hair ties in her jacket pocket. "But erm…thanks for these."

"Oh, and I won't know it's you if you call, because I totally deleted your number from my phone," Scott assures her, looking over his shoulder as he swaggers back down the hallway.

"Right, Scott," Astrid rolls her eyes, walking near nonchalantly until her lunch time seat until the nagging sensation of someone staring daggers into the side of her head catches up to her.

She doesn't think she's ever seen Hiccup look so profoundly hurt.

He's down the hall, standing near the entrance to the cafeteria and she can see the grim lines of betrayal bisecting his expression from here.

She remembers driving to the animal shelter on that last fateful morning of her almost former life, and the clenched jaw determination in his still boyish face as he ran down his father, who he should have been able to trust. She remembers the brave strength of mind to take down anyone who hurt Toothless, and somehow fears that she's no longer on the same short list of camaraderie as the wolf.

She remembers Heather and it makes her tough. She stares him down.

His shoulders suddenly seem narrower, he seems smaller, less formidable and more _huggable_ than he's ever been before. Her arms itch at her sides as she drops her backpack and strides down the hall, feeling impossibly _wrong_ with every step towards him.

She didn't do anything wrong.

He has no right to be mad.

She was just _talking_ to him. She can talk to whoever she wants.

Oh god, did he see her _punch_ him? Did he think she was flirting?

She approaches him tentatively, his face growing grim as she reaches him and their eyes meet, scalding and abrasive. She ducks her head, hating the cowardice as she strides past, her shoulder butting against his enough to make him stumble.

Her heart clenches as she subconsciously reaches out to catch him. He grabs her arm with all that invisible strength and spins her to face him.

"So, what's new with Scott?" He asks lowly, and she looks both ways over her shoulders, staring at the crowds pointedly ignoring them.

"He found something of mine in his car," she sighs, explaining honestly and Hiccup's eyes widen as he swallows, prominent Adam's apple bobbing. "Not like _that_! From…years ago!" She reaches into her jacket pocket and shows him the handful of hair ties. "Unless I let down my hair for him like 50 times in the last week!" Her low yell falls to a hissing whisper and Hiccup falters.

Everyone disappears into the cafeteria unnaturally quickly.

"Why is he giving you hair ties? That seems a little personal," Hiccup gripes, but the accusation has fallen out of his voice. "Unless…"

He feels deflated, like a soccer ball that didn't know it was torn wide open until it was kicked.

She felt so good this morning, pressed against him. Wonderfully soft and hard at the same time. His pillow was damp from her midnight shower wet hair and his entire world smelled like her shampoo.

"I don't know, why does Scott do anything?" She grumbles, putting a reluctant half smile on her face. It disappears when his grim expression doesn't change.

"Mostly he does things to try and have sex with you, last time I checked."

"I'm not going to cheat on you," Astrid mumbles, crossing her arms defiantly and focusing too hard on the manacle of his hand around her upper arm.

She wants his hand to be…Hiccup. Not rough and demanding.

Her heart rate picks up and her palms itch.

"Well, excuse me for being paranoid after you made extra sure I knew how revolting—"

"Jesus, you really want to do this here?" Astrid snaps, yanking against his grip, her fist clenching subconsciously. She glances down at her unenhanced chest, and wishes for all the superficiality that made her feel mature. She could throw him off without a problem, but it somehow seems impossible. Her fingernails dig into her palm and she winces, breathing too fast.

"Well, the last time we tried to talk didn't pan out—"

"Oh, right, because I'm the one flinging those low blows," she spits back, her breath rising in her throat like bile, frantic and horrible. They ignore last night beyond the vague mention, staring each other down. It's easier right now to ignore everything that yesterday was, everything disgusting and sad and horrible they said.

He said.

"Astrid—"

"Let me go." She snaps, her voice sharp and deadly as she jerks her arm violently. He glances at his hand, eyes widening at the strange sight of his white knuckled grip and he lets go, stepping backwards.

"Sorry, I didn't realize," he stretches his fingers.

"I—I—" Astrid's heart beats frantically in her chest as her arm prickles back to life.

When did his hand get that strong?

Why did he grab her like that?

Why couldn't she get away? Why is she so frantic to get away?

So many parallels run through her mind, never quite connecting, never quite relating. She's dizzy. She might puke.

Hiccup takes a step back, glancing between Astrid's wide, glassy eyes and his hand. She plants her hands on his shoulders and shoves. It's enough to mean something, but far from her usual ferocity.

"Astrid—"

"Don't tell me what to do!" Astrid snaps, her hands falling useless and shaking to her sides. "Don't tell me who to talk to. I've known Scott way longer than I've known you," the blow hurts her more upon delivery than she really knew was possible. Hurting him hurts her, backfiring just like she suspected. His eyes harden and she juts her jaw out, hiding her misplaced fear.

Her mouth is its own entity, scared and babbling.

She remembers fighting with her dad in middle school, verbally sparring into and out of corners.

She remembers the all too familiar and pertinent adrenaline surging through her veins like acid.

"Thanks for reminding me."

"I don't want to do this here," she glances at the mostly empty hallway, eyes brewing resentment in the shadow of her panic.

"Well, are you going to do it later?" He asks, and she sneers at him, overwhelmed.

"I don't want to do it at all."

"So…is it? Are we?" He mumbles, rubbing a hand up the back of his neck and stepping backward.

"No!" Astrid blurts, stepping towards him and punching him in the arm before the logical half of her brain can hug him or grab his hand or…something.

"Then what?"

"I—Nothing. Unless you're going to break—" The grim thought feels too bizarre on her tongue and she swallows it, shaking her head and closing her eyes too tight. "Nothing."

"So by nothing, you mean you'll keep flirting with Scott—" He snaps bitterly.

"I wasn't flirting with Scott!"

"—and you guys can just be hot make-out buddies—"

"I don't want to make out with Scott! He's a horrible kisser! It's like kissing a dead tilapia." She crosses her arms defiantly.

"Oh, and what is kissing me like?"

"It's like kissing my boyfriend! Who I love!" She snarls and Hiccup frowns.

"Well, that's good to hear, I guess." He grumbles and she spins away, glancing back over her shoulder.

"You _guess_. Fuck you, Hiccup." She storms away down the hallway, appetite dissolved in a swirling sea of angst and miserable confusion.

"See you at home," he sing-songs after her.

Every time he talks to her lately it's like lighting a cigarette in a sea of dry pine needles.

He can still feel the too tight grip of his hand around her arm, and the disturbingly comforting sensation of her warm skin under his.

He misses her so much it's a disability, a world view.

He misses her like his leg, like a part of him detached, his world dim bereft of its sensory input.

00000

"Come on, you should just come with Fish and me. We can make him look like a total pimp." Ruff offers, leaning against the gym locker next to Astrid's as she shoves her dirty clothes into her gym bag. The girls' choice dance is upon them Friday after practice, and it's honestly the last thing Astrid wants to deal with.

"I don't want to share your date, Ruff," Astrid sighs, pushing her sweaty bangs away from her face.

"Then go ask someone. Thrill a freshman," Ruff suggests with an embarrassing wink.

"I think I've thrilled enough people this week," She blushes and zips her bag, shoving her feet into her winter boots.

"I can't believe you're going to make me go to this dance by myself," Ruff laments, melodramatically hanging her head.

"You aren't going by yourself. You have Fishlegs."

"I can't believe you haven't made up with Hiccup by now." The taller girl shakes her head and Astrid wipes surprisingly tired, itchy eyes.

She couldn't sleep last night, but she couldn't bring herself to enlist Hiccup's help. She can't tell whether it hurts more to be close to him or as impossibly distant as she feels right now.

"Me either." There's just so much he should probably know that she doesn't particularly want to tell him. So many excuses she's still formulating, so many reasons she wishes she were hollow running through her mind.

"And I can't believe Hiccup is out hanging out with some girl while you sit at home and act like a complete loser," Ruff prods and Astrid glares at her.

"Thanks for that."

"Jesus, you are messed up. I can't believe I got away with saying that," Ruff looks at her friends worriedly and her upper lip contorts in a snarl.

"I'll beat you up later," she reaches back and straightens her ponytail, staring at a crumpled, useless power bar wrapper on the floor of her locker.

"So what exactly are your plans?" Ruff asks.

"I don't know. Lay on the couch with the dogs and watch Tom Cruise movies until I run out of Oreos?" Astrid jokes with a miserable laugh.

"It's a fight, not a breakup."

"I know I tried to act like I didn't care but…he's out spending time with Heather and I get a lecture for talking to Scott." She laments quietly and Ruff raises an eyebrow.

"You went out with Scott for three years."

"Yeah, so I _know_ what an idiot he is and how much I don't want to date him," Astrid frowns darkly. "And are you playing devil's advocate for fun?"

"What?"

"Are you telling me exactly what I don't want to hear for your own malicious enjoyment?"

"I'm pretending I don't think your boyfriend is an asshole," Ruff shrugs.

"He's not an asshole," Astrid defends, even as she hates herself for her steadfast support.

"Right now, he kind of is."

"So you don't think this is about what I said about _wanting_ him anymore?" Astrid asks and Ruff shakes her head.

"Nah, he's still pissed about that, but spending time with another girl instead of sitting at home fighting with you is an asshole move."

"So are you saying fighting is…good?" Astrid asks, feeling like a little league player on an MLB field. She hates feeling this small, hates being the clueless one.

Half of her hopes Ruff is talking out her ass, but somehow it doesn't seem like it.

"Better than avoiding," Ruff picks her lower teeth with her pinky fingernail and grimaces at whatever she plucked out of her gums.

"I just want to go home," Astrid laments, letting herself daydream about the steamy shower on her laziness-to-do list.

"What does and Hiccup even do with that chick? I didn't know he could even communicate with anyone less smart than you." Ruff wonders aloud and Astrid shrugs.

"I don't know," She stares at the floor, what's left of her bludgeoned confidence temporarily abandoning her. "And you don't know she's _not_ smarter than me."

"Please, you're the smartest _normal_ person I know," Ruff rolls her eyes.

"Thanks."

"Don't thank me for being honest. Most of the time you hate it," the taller girl shrugs and Astrid chews on her lip, pondering the original question.

"I think they mostly talk about…leg stuff," Astrid mumbles and Ruff raises an eyebrow.

"Is she like a lesbian or something? Are they out checking out legs together?" She frowns, "I didn't peg Hiccup for a leg man."

"No, they met at Hiccup's prosthesist."

"His what?"

"His fake leg fitter person," Astrid rolls her eyes, "She's missing a leg too."

"So they're stump-buddies?" Ruff clarifies without missing a beat and Astrid laughs aghast.

"Did you seriously just say stump-buddies?"

"Yeah, they're stump-buddies!" Ruff exclaims, cracking a smile and drawling irreverently. "I bet they give stump-fives. And they're probably planning stump awareness day or something."

"Can you stop saying stump?" Astrid asks, nose wrinkling as she can't help but imagine Hiccup's uncomfortable face.

"Stump."

"Shut up," Astrid glowers at Ruff who sighs reluctantly.

"You're less fun when you don't punch me," She scowls.

"Go get your brother to punch you," Astrid snarks, pulling her backpack onto her shoulders and hefting her gym bag off of the bench.

"He hits like a girl," Ruff complains and Astrid looks down at her still bandaged knuckle.

"He is fun to punch though," Ruff grins and Astrid can't help but smile a tiny bit.

"He's keeping his tooth on the bathroom counter. It's disgusting," She laughs and Astrid frowns.

"I still can't believe he asked me to—yeah," Astrid wrinkles her nose in disgust.

"Well, you were acting pretty slutty for a couple of days there," Ruff shrugs, and Astrid looks down at her lacking chest. She missed being herself. Adult Astrid is brave and foxy, but incredibly petty.

She's going to hold on to remembering that petty is bad.

"I'm not the one who took her shirt off at New Years," Astrid taunts, dodging the fist that flies her way as she walks toward the locker room exit. "But I guess you're sort of right."

"I really hope you don't dump Hiccup," Ruff laughs, "being sort of right is probably the biggest compliment you've ever given me."

"What does that have to do with Hiccup?"

"I don't think you understood how to put anything but 'me' and 'right' together before Hiccup made you feel like a love struck moron," Ruff admits honestly and Astrid crosses her arms, suddenly cold and missing all sorts of unidentifiable connections.

"I think you mean 'I' and 'right'," she mumbles and Ruff cuffs the top of her head.

"Fucking…Astrid," she laughs, shaking her head as they part ways at the doorway out to the parking lot. "Give me a call if you decide not to be pathetic."

"Oh, I won't," Astrid waves, "But have fun."

"Always do," Ruff grins and lopes off, while Astrid pushes outside and hurries through the cold, ear-numbing wind to her car and climbs in.

The next four hours are a blur of movies she'd never admit she owned and almost naps buried under almost twice her weight in dogs. Toothless is especially clingy, determinedly working his way between her back and the couch, burying his long toothy snout against the back of her head.

She has half a mind to call Hiccup and tell him Toothless is lonely, but she refuses to give herself the sick satisfaction of hearing his voice.

Spike sighs in her sleep and rests her chin on Astrid's hip, lips twitching in tandem with some dream Astrid can't begin to guess at.

What do dogs dream about, anyway?

Running, chasing. Squirrels.

Spike definitely dreams about squirrels.

She wonders if dogs have nightmares. Does Toothless remember waiting days in the forest with his leg trapped and mangled? Does Spike worry over surviving the next wretched cycle of fights?

Do either of them smell concrete dust in their dreams? The odor is sometimes so strong, so believable that Astrid wakes up with a dry throat, thrashing wildly as her neck aches from imaginary hands.

She honestly prefers those nightmares over the others. The ones with her childhood bedroom, blurring between bright play sessions with Legos on her once pink rug and not lonely enough nights, confusing and painful.

Spike usually wakes her up before they get too bad, bathing her face with a hot, syrupy dog tongue. Astrid likes to think the dog understands the too tight hugs that follow, and Astrid's happy she doesn't have problems falling back asleep anymore.

Somewhere between spooning exhausted against Toothless and playing with Spike's head resting on her hip, Astrid drifts off, snoring lightly as the light streaming in through the window fades to moonlight. An indeterminable amount of time later, she frowns through her sleeping face and jolts.

Her eyes blink open, focusing on the blurry borders of the TV. How long has she been asleep? The menu-screen of her movie is repeating itself, too dramatic music an icepick in her still drowsy brain.

Ring Ring.

That's her phone.

An inexplicable sick feeling pools in her gut as she fumbles her phone out of her pocket, frowning at Hiccup's picture on the caller ID and wiping her shower crazy hair off of her face. It's not even really her decision when she brings the phone to her ear.

"Hello?" She asks cautiously.

"Hi, is this Astrid?" A girl's voice asks, her tone somewhere between amused and worried.

"Yeah…" She could guess she's speaking to Heather, but somehow guessing that feels that feels like giving up power.

"Hi, it's Heather," of course it is, "I'm with Henry," of course she is, "He needs his inhaler."

Astrid's heart drops through her stomach.

"Next time, lead with that," she barks, rolling to her feet and rummaging her car keys and wallet out of her backpack and jogging upstairs to Hiccup's room.

"I mean, he's fine—"

"If he wanted to call me, and couldn't do it himself," she rummages through his dresser and pockets his inhaler, "then he's not fine. Where are you?" On the way out the door, she shoves her feet into an ancient pair of tennis shoes she must have left in his room at some point in the past that hurts to think about.

She almost falls down the stairs, running to the door to catch her balance.

"I don't exactly know—"

"Intersection, address, anything?" She snaps, jumping into her car and slamming into near violent reverse down the driveway.

"Sort of by Kipling?"

"Kipling and what?" Astrid looks cautiously for cops, flooring the accelerator and gliding onto the highway at seventy.

"By the Taco Bell and McDonalds?" She directs lamely and Hiccup wheezes in the background. Astrid drives faster. "Kipling and 10th."

"Thank Hiccup for me," she mumbles into the phone and Heather _chirps _on the other end. "And I'll be there in 10…maybe 5," she instructs, hanging up and swerving into the fast lane.

Once she pulls up to 10th on Kipling, it's not immediately apparent and she slows, scanning the intersection before veering left at the noted Taco Bell. She pulls up past a park just off the main street and sees two people sitting together on a bench under a street light. She recognizes twin shiny glints in the night and pulls over, parking illegally in a fire lane, and jumping out of the car.

She digs the inhaler out of her pocket and trots over the curb, hand landing reflexively on Hiccup's clammy shoulder as she shoves the device into his hand.

"Wow, you drove fast!" Heather remarks, standing up and offering Astrid her hand. The blonde reaches over with her left hand, because her right seems infinitely heavy and glued to Hiccup's shoulder.

"How long has he this been going on?" Astrid asks, torn between fear and happiness when he brings his inhaler to his mouth.

"Oh, we met on Monday, Henry didn't tell you?"

"No, the asthma attack." She corrects flatly, her hand rubbing rhythmically between his shoulder blades without her express consent. The shaky almost breathing is evening out to deep heaves and she can't help but sigh in relief.

"I don't know," she laughs, "We had to—" she stops talking to laugh, relieved and hysterical. "We had to run over from Colfax—"

"That's almost half a mile," Astrid cuts her off, thwacking his back embarrassingly gently. "You guys ran almost half a mile, and he didn't have his inhaler?"

"I didn't know he had asthma," Heather defends, more serious but unable to wipe the smile off of her face.

"And it's icy out," she kicks the ground, letting her foot slip over the slick concrete. "You've got to do it's not exactly safe for you two—or anyone—to be running around on this," she lectures, feeling horrendously like someone's mother.

"Of course I know that," Heather smiles, "He's fine, you got his inhaler here. It was just a little _fun_—"

"Last time I checked, this definitely wasn't Hiccup's definition of _fun_."

"Maybe you don't know Henry as well as you thought?" Heather suggests, and Astrid recognizes a bitchy tone she hasn't accomplished this calendar year.

"Ok," she grins pleasantly, claws pushing at the surface of her reformed hands. "I'm going to pretend that I didn't hear that, and we're going to move on because I really don't want to have to punch you."

"Why? I'm pretty sure I can take your punch, even with one leg removed," Heather challenges, her expression far too posed and _pretty_ to be terrifying. Hiccup wheezes to warn her and Astrid snaps at him.

"Use your inhaler," she turns back to Heather, composing herself. "And me not wanting to hit you has absolutely nothing to do with your legs. I don't hit girls."

"I'm sorry," Heather backpedals almost immediately and Astrid raises her eyebrows, shocked by the whiplash. The other girl's fingers almost land on Hiccup's other shoulder before she rethinks and wrings her fingers together, worried face immaculate in the shitty light of the street lamp. "I don't know what got into me, Henry just started having trouble breathing, and I got scared—"

"Apology accepted," Astrid cuts off the bullshit, recognizing the competition for what it is.

Heather is definitely _prettier_ than she expected. Different than her, taller and more brunette and faker than she ever was.

She hopes anyway.

And that acting, she saw through it in a minute, but she can see how Hiccup is fooled. She can see how wonderfully put together the other girl is, and half of her wishes for her own social surface to be that smooth. The other half likes the outside of fakery, and she grins.

"Is he doing better?" Heather asks, convincingly nervous.

"I'd say so," Astrid lets her fingers curl in the cotton of his tee-shirt. "Where exactly is his jacket?" She asks, trying to keep her grin real.

"I have no idea," the other girl laughs, "maybe the party, maybe the car?" She hedges and Hiccup coughs. Her hand slides up his shoulders, rubbing at the back of his tense neck. His head lolls forward and she bites her tongue, breathing deeply.

"Well, if you find it, give me a call? Do you have my phone number?" She offers graciously, and Heather shakes her head, offering Astrid her phone. She has to fight every childish urge in her body not to enter her name as _Hiccup's Girlfriend_. She hands the phone back with a grin, wishing desperately for a hair tie or something as her hair falls into her face.

"Yeah, but I mean, I don't want to interrupt your night," Heather looks accusingly at Astrid's sweatpants and insane hair, and Astrid notices the other girl's tremendously tight jeans. Well, they're tight on one leg. On the other they taper to baggy a little above her would be knee. "Henry can probably just head back out from here, with his inhaler, of course."

"I'm going to take him home," Astrid assures, backing up so that Hiccup can stand up without brushing against her.

In one of those recently missing moments of complete synchrony, Hiccup reaches for her hand at the same instant she reaches for his, meeting in the middle. It feels so horribly, unbearably right that Astrid's heart feels like it might break in her chest at the thought of how deeply fucked everything is.

"Are you sure? Because—Oh there they are!" Heather laughs, pointing to the crowd of rowdy boys Astrid doesn't recognize appearing from suburbia, hooting and hollering at the other end of the park. "If we want to go, we've got to go," she tells Hiccup, already edging backwards, more graceful that Astrid expected.

"I'm going to go home," Hiccup excuses himself, his voice raw and husky and painful sounding in a way that makes Astrid want to _shriek_. "But—"

"Next time I swear you can choose what we do," Heather laughs from fifteen feet and Hiccup waves. This is the second time Astrid has felt left out of some loop.

"Good idea," he wheezes, letting Astrid pull him towards the car by their still conjoined hands. She reaches out and opens the passenger door, suddenly looking down at their interlaced fingers and letting go like he burned her.

"Sorry," she mumbles, walking around to the other side of the car and climbing in, turning the key in the ignition and staring at the dashboard lights while Hiccup buckles himself in. She pulls back onto the street, driving slower this time.

"Thanks," he tells her quietly after a moment and she shrugs.

"Call me sooner next time," she tells him, "that scared the crap out of me."

"Sorry to…interrupt whatever you were doing," he apologizes, his voice low, and she laughs, suddenly insane. This is a sign. Someone is hurling signs at her face and interrupting her nap.

She just wants to talk to him.

The thought of him hurt with no one to call…she doesn't care what happens between them, she just hopes he always knows he can call her if he needs anything.

"You can speak up you know. I'm not going to kill you," she placates him.

"Really? Because a couple of days ago?" He laughs humorlessly.

"I think driving across town like a maniac establishes that I don't want you dead," she bites her lip and faces him briefly before looking back at the road. "And what about a couple of days ago? I'm assuming you're talking about the fact that you called me a—" she bends frustrated and slams a palm on the wheel. "You pretty much called me a s-slut."

"That was wrong," he admits and she rolls her eyes.

"I'm not fishing for an apology," she tells him darkly and he looks at her carefully.

"You shouldn't have to fish for an apology from me," he mumbles and she scoffs.

"In a perfect world…" She chews on her lip, eyes darting between the road and her flickering turn signal. "I—I'm sorry about the last couple of days. I'm sure you noticed that I'm done with what I was…what the space station noticed, right?"

"I didn't mean—I shouldn't have said that," he admits, shaking his head. It wasn't fair.

"It's only…it was only ever Scott before you, you know that too, right?" She tells him earnestly, determined to clear her name. Everyone else can think whatever they want, she can't bring herself to care. But Hiccup? She cares so much it might destroy her. "Despite whatever you said, you have to know that."

"I do." He ignores the number _two_ from the Valentine's disaster, hoping for anything but fighting right now.

He's sure it's just embarrassing, and a mistake, and something she doesn't want to talk about. She doesn't have to, if it'll make them fight anymore.

"Good," she snaps, her hands shaking as she merges onto the highway, keeping the car in the slow lane. "How goes—how goes the breathing…thing?" She asks awkwardly, eyes fixated on the centerline.

"Better. Thanks for the inhaler."

"You said that," she blurts, perennially worried about the untimely death of this conversation.

"I guess asthma leads to short term memory loss," he deadpans and she smiles to herself.

"There, an actual Hiccup joke."

"What do you mean?" He asks warily.

"Your leg jokes suck," she laughs. "Tuesday morning, I was going to boo you out of the car." It feels so amazingly normal and she bites her lip, holding onto the moment.

"You aren't leaving me with a leg to stand on," he accuses her lightly and she punches him in the arm, so painfully familiar. He reaches up and catches her hand, holding it too close.

"That sucked too," she smiles, flushing more than she'd like to.

"You laughed," he shrugs. "It's a victory if I get you to laugh."

"That's never been hard for you," she tells him too honest, yanking her hand back as gently as she can with her panicked throat closing. "I have to drive."

The silence is equal parts painful and obscenely comfortable.

"Is your arm ok?" He asks and she looks at him strangely.

"My arm?" She shows him her scabby knuckle questioningly.

"Where—where I grabbed it yesterday?" he reiterates, embarrassed.

"Oh, that?" She frowns to herself, suddenly perturbed. "That was…you're fine. I just—"

"I shouldn't have grabbed you like that."

"No, I really didn't like that," she admits. "It was…sometimes I forget how bad it used to be, but little things…" She trails off, clamping her lips together, feeling too ragged. After yesterday, everything is so close to the surface, it's dangerous. She bites her lips, holding her mouth closed and doubling her resolution to not let anything else slip out.

The honesty is a fog cloud in the car. Astrid isn't even sure why she brought it up, but it's suddenly unavoidable, and everything is immediately murky and horrible. She hates remembering.

He hates that he forgets.

He wishes he could make it go away, and she wishes she'd never brought it up. She bites her lip, pointedly silent as she glares down the road, personally offended by every lump of slush.

"You should talk to me about that…" he suggests quietly, and she shakes her head, happy to jump out of the corner and change the subject.

"You went and found someone else to _talk_ to about your problems," she rolls her eyes. She can't help the nuance in her words and he sits up straight, delicate comfort falling towards alertness.

"Heather is my friend—"

"I wish my friends were that pretty," she snarks, suddenly wildly self-conscious. Heather probably has a wonderful relationship with her suburban father. Her parents are probably glowing examples of support in the face of adversity, or some other pamphlet sitting in the high school counselor's office.

"Yeah, Heather's pretty, I guess," he admits, struggling to put the compliment to her face Rationally, he knows it's true, and she's very…symmetrical, but well…he knows _Astrid_.

"At least you admit it," she sighs bitterly. "I'd be _really_ worried if you dodged that little bullet."

"She's…whatever, but she's also not you."

"Oh, and suddenly I'm so great?" She nearly roars and he rolls his eyes.

"Yes, you are."

"When I'm not slutting around?" She snaps and Hiccup sits up straighter.

"I took that back!"

"You still said it!"

"Yeah, and you said that you didn't want me," he reminds her and she bites her lip as confusion wells back up in her gut.

"Are we seriously bringing that up again?" She asks, "Is that all you can fight with me about?"

"Oh, I'm supposed to have a portfolio of options to fight with you about? I'm supposed to offer like a tasting menu of fights—"

"I'm so done with this being awkward and horrible—"

"Then stop!" he practically orders her and she scoffs.

"Right, because I'm the one calling you slutty and ditching you—"

"So, I'm supposed to sit home and fight with you?" He asks, "I'm supposed to be as miserable as you want to make me?"

"I don't want you to be miserable," she defends, "I love you. I just—Fighting is better than avoiding."

"Thanks Oprah," he sneers. "If you actually want this to work, you really have to stop looking at me like I'm _defective_."

"You aren't defective—"

"Yeah, apparently it takes someone else like _me_ to see that—"

"So this is all about your leg?" She puts two and two together, her voice dropping as her eyes widen. "You think I don't want you because of your leg? You think I don't want you because—Scott was horrible, Hiccup. And everything…everyone—" the memories rush at her head like machine gun fire and she shuts them out, eyes squinting shut as she glides into the garage.

Her dad was—

Scott didn't help things, with all that brawn and—

"So if it's not about my leg, what is it about? Exactly?" He asks, disbelieving and she stares at him, choking on her words.

"I—I was—"

"Right, you don't have an answer for that question, do you?" He spits at her, slamming out of the car and stomping indoors as best as he can.

00000

**So…Astrid met Heather. And didn't that go well? **

**And Scott Nout. He's my favorite, and I definitely found him to be completely disarming here. He pretty much broke my heart a little bit. **

**I'm really curious to hear what you guys think to this newest installment. Astrid's really starting to piece together her actual problem, and Hiccup is letting his slip…**

**I'll see you guys all on Friday! I hope that this is a good follow-up to last week's blow-up, and I'd really really love to know what you all think! **

**And Wondering: I haven't read Percy Jackson, so I'd say I'm definitely quite ill equipped to write a fic about it. **


	8. Chapter 8

**So, thanks so much for the absolutely amazing 45 reviews that I got for the last chapter. It was absolutely amazing, and you're all great. **

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Astrid wakes up too early on Saturday morning to a text from Ruff practically begging for coffee. She guesses Ruff had fun last night. As much as she hates to be _beckoned_, the excuse to get out of the house and not have to see Hiccup's stupid freckles today is more than welcome. He can have all the leg problems that he wants, and it won't excuse saying…what he said. She rolls out of bed and yanks her insane hair into a ponytail before shoving her feet into a pair of jeans from her bedroom floor.

She loads her wallet, keys, and phone into her hoodie pockets and trudges out to the kitchen, telling herself that she isn't purposefully quieting down as she passes Hiccup's closed bedroom door. Toothless rattles the knob beseechingly when he hears her and she backtracks, almost stumbling on Spike trailing at her heels. She lets him out of Hiccup's room as silently as she can, resisting the childish urge to slam the door.

That'd wake him up.

She scoops both dogs breakfast, and waits for them to eat, before letting them outside to do their business. Spike hurriedly squats and runs back inside, her short coat offering little protection from the morning chill. Toothless takes his time, precariously propping himself against the trunk of a nearby tree and lifting his leg. Astrid's shivering and glaring at the half open door by time he finally trots back inside, broad furry back radiating heat by her thighs.

Astrid kisses them both goodbye and gets in the car, driving to the coffee shop closest to Ruff's house, fighting through the Saturday morning crowd.

Ruff owes her. Ruff owes her so much.

Five minutes later, and a full forty minutes after she received the stupid text that woke her up in the first place, she's walking up to the Thorsten's front door. She knocks and the lack of answer leads her to assume everyone inside is back in hangover dreamland. She leans against the wall, coffee keeping her hands warm as she waits.

She hears a car pulling into the driveway and glances over, expecting to see Mr. and Mrs. Thorston, but of course it's Hiccup. Of fucking course. She glares pointedly

at him as he walks up to the house, slides by carelessly three feet in front of her face and sleepily knocks on the door.

"Boo," she mumbles and he jumps, yelping as he's startled. She laughs maliciously. "Did you just seriously scream?" She asks and he backs up to the far side of the porch overhand, glaring at her.

"Don't flatter yourself," he nearly barks, obviously still angry from the night before. She looks down at his leg and his eyes harden.

She wants to scream at him that she doesn't give a shit what his feet are made of while punching him in the ear.

"What are you doing here, anyway?" She asks caustically, making him talk almost exclusively because she can tell he would rather stay silent.

"Meeting Fishlegs," he answers.

"Last time I checked, Fishlegs doesn't live here," she spits and he rolls his eyes.

"He spent the night with Ruff," He speaks slowly, like he doubts her intelligence and Astrid swears her blood is literally boiling.

"Hey, maybe he can teach you what to do with a naked girl," she suggests, falsely chipper.

"You weren't naked."

"Mostly naked," she corrects, words drenched in violent ire. "Same difference."

"And they ran out of non-squeamish models at the naked girl store," he accuses.

"At least you phrased that nonsense differently this time," she commends him bitterly. "I swear if I hear you say the word disgusting one more time—"

"Disgusting," he blurts cheekily.

"Fuck you," she curses, seeing red as she raises her voice. "Do not tell me that you and Fishlegs are staying here all day, because I don't think you'll live—"

"Oh, so you're going to murder me?" He asks, irritatingly brave. "I'm so terrified, brave Astrid is going to kill the cripple—"

"You're not a cripple!" She growls at him, setting down her coffee to squelch the compulsion to hurl it at his face.

"Are we seriously to the point where we can't even be in the same house?" He asks quietly and her lip curls.

"I tried to _talk_ to you last night," she reminds him, unable to speak below a low yell.

"Maybe I didn't want to talk to _you_," he intones as a purposeful insult and she clenches her fists. Her injured knuckle cracks open with a sting and oozes blood towards her fingertips.

"Then why am _I_ even your girlfriend?" She snarls, feeling like anything but.

"You're my girlfriend because I love you," he gripes, not entirely content with the reasoning. She rolls her eyes.

"Oh yeah, I completely feel that."

"And I felt really loved when you said you didn't want me!" He's finally starting to understand the sentiment behind beating a dead horse.

"How many times have you thrown that one at me?" She asks, laughing humorlessly.

"About as many times as you told me that getting naked makes it alright to be a horrible bitch."

"I wasn't naked. I was mostly naked," she corrects him smugly.

"Same difference."

"What no slut comments today?" She goads him, stepping up and knocking on the door again.

"You aren't a slut," he shakes his head wearily. "Whatever _issue_ you have is way worse than that."

"Thanks for that Dr. Freud." The obtuse statement still feels like rock-salt buckshot.

"You would need a platoon of Freuds," he accuses, projecting, and she mocks him with a shocked expression, perfectly masking buried hurt.

"Wow, aren't you smart—"

"Yeah, I am—"

"I wish you had a mute button!" she roars, yanking on her ponytail in raging frustration.

And a pause, and a rewind.

"Great, I'll check if mime school is still accepting applications!" He retorts, angrily stepping towards her. She does the same, refusing to be out done.

"What the fuck, Hiccup? Who talks about mimes in the middle of a fight? You're crazy!" She accuses him.

"You were the one so excited about a mute button," he shrugs violently. "Plus, I thought you wanted more varietal fights."

"Well, I'm definitely sick of having the same one over and over and over and—mmph!" He kisses her too roughly, hands almost hurting where they are clasped on her jaw.

She retaliates, eagerly grabbing his shoulders and digging her fingernails in as she kisses him back just as savagely, nipping at his lower lip. One of his hands cups the back of her head, nesting in her hair as she yanks him closer, teeth painfully gnashing together.

Before she knows what she's doing, she presses her up against the decorative iron screen door, grinning against his mouth as he yelps, the bars digging uncomfortably into his back. She reaches down and fists her hand in his jacket over his lower back, knuckles clanging uncomfortably against the steel. He swallows her groan and tugs too gently on her hair and she growls, almost terrified. Adrenaline courses through her veins like caffeine as her hand slides under his shirt, nails digging ruthlessly into the skin covering his spine.

This feels horrible and wonderful all at once, and she hates the fact that this is easier than talking, but can't bear to pull away yet. It's not the best vantage point to exact her violent revenge, scratching viciously at the muscular plane of his back, but she can't seem to stop _touching_ him after so long with nothing.

Suddenly, something shifts in the air and his hands aren't grabbing at her back, they're _cradling_ her. Their lips slow to something almost kind, and sort of sad, clinging to each other as her hands fist in his shirt. Her eyes itch and she focuses on chapped lips against hers, thinking about anything other than pulling away.

She feels _safe_, and for an infinitesimal moment in time, the fighting is all worth it for that snippet of absolute protection.

The wooden door opens behind them and Astrid's eyes spring wide as she shoves Hiccup off of her, anger reigniting as she straightens her clothes and he rubs at an already swelling bruise from his head knocking against the metal door.

Why did he do that? Why did he confuse everything?

She'd give anything to be back close to him.

"Why the hell did you just kiss me?" She roars, drawing too much pleasure from the flinch of the obviously hung over Tuff now opening the cast iron door.

"It was the only way to get you to shut up!" He yells back stepping up away from the door as she picks up her coffee.

"Don't—"

"If you two don't stop screaming, I will puke on your shoes," Tuff points at Astrid, "and your shoe," he turns his pale finger to Hiccup.

"Good morning Tuff, how's the tooth?" Astrid asks, maliciously cheery. Tuff perks up slightly and peels back his lips, poking his tongue through the newly made gap in his grin.

"Good, wanna touch it?" He asks.

"No," Astrid sneers, shooting Hiccup a glare. "But I bet Hiccup would _love_ to," she grins, shoving inside to where Ruff and Fish are standing at the top of the stairs. Ruff definitely looks worse for the wear, too pale and perpetually wiping sleep from her smudgy eyes.

Fishlegs looks nervous.

"No, Tuff, I don't want to touch your tooth," Hiccup declines, dodging around the other boy and standing across from Astrid. They seethe at each other.

"Sister, Sister's boyfriend," Tuff announces melodramatically, "Today's guests on the Jerry Springer show." He gestures to them broadly before stumbling back to his bedroom and shutting the door.

"They better be leaving," Astrid snaps to Ruff, gesturing broadly at Hiccup and Fishlegs.

"Oh, don't worry, we are," Hiccup assures her, pointing at the boy at the top of the stairs. "You, home depot."

"I don't really want to take sides…" Fishlegs mumbles and Hiccup sighs.

"How about this," he starts, "Everyone just takes Astrid's side so that she's really pleased with herself and doesn't find a reason to kill me."

"What if I want to kill you?" Astrid threatens and Ruff seethes.

"Hofferson, shut up and bring me my coffee. You two, shut up and leave," she snips. Astrid glares at Hiccup one more time over her shoulder before sulking upstairs, feeling like a chastised child as she hands Ruff her now lukewarm cappuccino.

The two girls proceed to Ruff's room, which feels like a cave, with thick blankets shielding the sunlight attempting to pour through the windows. Ruff's dog looks about as energetic as she does, tail thumping lazily as she rolls over, showing Astrid her belly.

Astrid scoops the pit into her arms and blows a distracted raspberry on her soft stomach, making her squirm and kick the wall.

"No one told me Hiccup was going to be here, in my defense." She gripes, flopping onto Ruff's beanbag chair and curling into a ball, hugging the still drowsy pit to her chest.

"I didn't think you guys would wake up in the neighborhood with your screaming," Ruff complains.

"You knew he'd be here?"

"I knew he was picking up Fish at some time this morning," the girl rolls her eyes, tugging her oversized jacket's hood far forward over her eyes and sitting down on the bed." So that was fucking crazy down there."

"Don't even get me started," Astrid scoffs, too jittery to take a sip of her own coffee. She plays with Ruff's dog's floppy lip, brushing her finger against the once sharpened tooth now dulling with time.

It's not really sharp at all anymore, just a normal tooth.

"When Tuff opened the door, you guys were making out, right?" Ruff tries to consolidate the odd sight.

"No, I was eating his face off," Astrid snaps, flushing. "Didn't you see all the blood?"

"So how exactly did you two get from screaming about mimes to making out?"

"You heard the mime thing?" Astrid laments.

"That's what woke me up," Ruff laughs, wincing at the sensation.

"Hiccup is an idiot."

"So, when exactly did the kissing happen?"

"How was the dance?" Astrid asks, determined to change the subject. The dog snores unevenly.

"It was alright," Ruff shrugs. "Scott's date broke up with him twice, but they left together. She's an idiot. We went to a party with Fishlegs' Rugby team afterwards."

"That's all I get?"

"You'd know all about it if you hadn't ditched me," Ruff reminds her friend. "How was your night of Oreos and feeling sorry for yourself?"

"Interrupted," Astrid groans and Ruff quirks an eyebrow.

"By what?"

"The mythical Heather made Hiccup run somewhere, and I had to rush his inhaler halfway across town," she complains and Ruff perks up.

"You met the heather?" She asks.

"The heather?"

"Yeah, I still don't want her to be a person, so I'm calling her the heather until I know for sure she's not a blow-up doll."

"You've seen Lars and the real girl way too many times," Astrid cautions, shaking her head.

"But Ryan Gosling," Ruff shrugs and Astrid relents.

"It's a weird ass movie, otherwise," she shakes her head, poking at the bean bag chair. "She's real," Astrid grimaces and Ruff leans closer. "And pretty and incredibly _fake_." Astrid frowns, "and she's got her eye on Hiccup." The dam breaks, "She calls him _Henry_, and is all _friendly_. She wasn't even scared when he had his asthma attack, it was all just a part of some game. And as soon as I'd pried Hiccup from her clutches, she ran off to party with a huge group of complete douche bags."

"Beat her up," Ruff crows and Astrid has to grin.

"I almost did, but then she _apologized_," she sneers, "trying to make me look like the bad guy."

"That bitch," Ruff commiserates. "She's pretty?"

"Prettier than my furious face is anyway," Astrid shrugs and frowns at her feet. "And that's all Hiccup sees right now."

"I'm going to duct tape you guys to chair and make you fucking talk to each other," Ruff flops back on the bed. "So outside, you were yelling at him and he like, just fucking kissed you?"

"I guess," Astrid grumbles awkwardly, still uncomfortably warm from the instance.

"That's kind of hot."

"It's annoying," Astrid glares, trying to wipe the annoying blush from her cheeks. "Kind of _gratifying_ though," she admits quietly.

"I swear, if you two just bang—"

"Oh!" She remembers, "I figured out Hiccup's real problem," she pats her knee. "He thinks I have a problem with his leg."

"Why would he think that? You've only been all over him since he's been all stumpy," Ruff asks and Astrid glowers at her.

"Call him stumpy one more time…"

"Jesus, you guys were just biting each other's heads off, but I can't call him stumpy?"

"No, you can't." Astrid affirms, "And I don't know why he thinks that," she admits. "And I tried to tell him that my problem probably had something to do with Scott sucking in bed, not his leg, but he got all…weird." She leaves out the part where she stuttered against the rest of her supposed issue.

She likes ignoring that issue's existence.

_He_ doesn't affect her now, _he's_ in the past, and she's not going to fixate on it.

"How did he stop you from telling him?"

"He walked away," Astrid shrugs.

"Corner him," Ruff suggests. "Tell him in the shower or something. I doubt he'll streak to get away from hearing it. And if he does, just jump him."

"And that's why I come to you for advice," Astrid snorts.

"Why? Because I don't tell you to be all passive and girly?"

"Exactly," she nods, biting her lip. "I just…I just don't understand how he can be so mean all of a sudden." The words sound pathetic, pitiable, and she scowls at the floor, holding the dog closer to herself.

"Mean?" Ruff asks, frowning and flinching as her forehead throbs.

"Because I've slept with more people than him—"

"Seriously? He's being a brat over the fact you've had one boyfriend before him?" She groans, muffled through the thick shield of her hood. The number 'one' feels like a brand and Astrid curls up more tightly, the dog's heartbeat against her thigh comforting as she starts to snore. "Can I punch him?"

"If anyone's punching him it's me," Astrid gripes before sighing too loudly. "But—I mean…have you ever gotten to the point where you don't actually _want_ to hit a guy?"

"Oh my god, I'm not insane!" Ruff groans, thrusting a haphazardly enthusiastic arm up in the air and letting it flop down onto her chest. "I punched Fishlegs last week for some reason, and I thought I might puke."

"God, we've _both_ gone soft?" Astrid laments too loudly and Ruff cringes at the sound.

"Shhh," the taller girl urges her friend, wiping an exhausted hand over her face before sitting up and taking an enormous gulp of lukewarm coffee. "It's staying a secret, or I will kick your ass."

"Deal," Astrid agrees. "But Hiccup seriously deserves to be punched right now. But I'd just end up beating up whoever did it anyway."

"That's not a bad plan," Ruff muses, "I mean, Hiccup gets punched and you get to punch someone. Then you can play nurse, because we both know that you get off on that—"

"Nobody is punching Hiccup."

"Fine, I'm just trying to help here," the hung-over girl rolls onto her stomach and pulls a pillow clumsily over half of her face.

"Do you still think cornering him will work?" Astrid asks after a quiet moment and Ruff shrugs.

"Yeah," she growls into her pillow. "But you should probably be naked. And if he's mean, put on an item of clothing. That'd fix him."

"Why do all your plans involve nudity?" Astrid laughs, half tempted to go through with it. If she were naked, she couldn't really freak out over him getting her naked, right?

Maybe she could swallow the fear if it were funny, if he were staring at her with that stereotypically _Hiccup_ open-mouthed shock.

Corner him.

She can definitely do that, once she gets to the point where his stupid handsome face doesn't infuriate her.

00000

Fishlegs hoists a bundle of six foot long four by fours over his shoulder as if they weigh nothing, and Hiccup walks beside him with a box of wood screws. The smaller boy's furious expression from that morning is fading slowly into a tortured blend of shocked embarrassment and fear.

"Has it finally caught up to you that there's a ninety percent chance of Astrid killing you in the next 24 hours?" Fishlegs asks, adjusting his grip on the wood.

"She won't kill me, then she'd have no one to torture," Hiccup scowls at the floor, and his uneven feet clacking across the cement.

Actually concrete. Cement is just an ingredient in concrete.

This concrete does appear to be mostly cement though. He wonders how much it cost to pour the home-depot floor, if they weren't using too much filler.

Anything is better than thinking about…everything.

"I miss us both having girlfriends," the blonde boy sighs, a melancholy modern Hercules, and Hiccup glares at him.

"She's still my girlfriend."

"You two are acting like—I don't have an adequate reference. I didn't know that this level of emotional instability existed outside of secretly scripted reality shows," Fishlegs blurts.

"If you're saying Astrid makes me act like a rabid lunatic, you're not wrong," Hiccup admits. "It's just…I just think of things to say, and somehow they're funny and I just have to say them." He frowns. "And then her face…"

He contemplates puking on the floor as he imagines the way her eyebrows furrow and her mouth falls slack as her eyes go painfully blank.

He hates that he's ever made her look like that.

The silence drags on before Fishlegs dares to break it.

"I always figured you for a silent fighter," the football player shrugs. "Like there'd be a 9:1 ratio between Astrid's yelling and your responses."

"Yeah, and Toothless and I could spend all that free time have angst ridden discussions about being tripods," Hiccup rolls his eyes. "Or a unipod, whatever." Saying it out loud makes him realize that he might actually have a bit of an annoying angst problem, and he frowns. "And plus, I don't think I was born with that whole 'knowing when to shut up' thing." He adds, pretending to be upbeat over his suddenly disgustingly self-absorbed core.

"I'd guess that's like a fifth of why Astrid liked you," Fishlegs shrugs, setting the huge pile of wood onto the self-checkout counter and waving the wand over the barcode. Hiccup swipes his wood screws over the plate glass and pulling out his debit card.

"She still likes me…I think," he mumbles the last two words to himself. What if he ruined it?

She liked him last night, in the car, when he was relatively silent. Even when they started talking, they were reasonable, he apologized, and she apologized. It was great, until she started pretending that she didn't give a shit about his leg, and he overreacted…

And she absolutely let him into that dark corner of her past she hates to mention, and he…

Oh.

That—

She's probably smart enough to not like him anymore.

But she didn't exactly throw him off this morning when he kissed her, and he takes that to be a tiny positive.

Maybe she's only interested in him physically—_and_ that would make sense coming out of anyone else's mouth, but not his. Astrid has lots of places to go if she's only in the market of a make-out buddy, Scott and his muscular calves would probably be _thrilled_.

"Sure…" Fishlegs mumbles dubiously, picking the bundle of wood back up and following Hiccup towards the exit. "We can go with that."

"She still likes me," Hiccup insists, unbelieving. "If she didn't like me, she wouldn't spend so much time fighting with me."

"Ok," Fishlegs shrugs, not necessarily condescending, more accepting of some vast phenomena he doesn't understand. Sometimes it's great to not be questioned, to just have something he said accepted at face value.

"I'm pretty sick of fighting though," Hiccup admits, sighing as they get into the car and pull out of the parking spot.

"You're getting really good at it," Fishlegs offers in consolation.

"Thanks for that," Hiccup deadpans and his friend shrugs.

"No problem…wait, that was sarcasm," Fishlegs catches himself. "I do that too much."

"Eh, you and I aren't exactly social pariahs anymore, you aren't used to talking to only me." Right now, Hiccup misses that lonely simplicity. He misses being a two-footed, lonely single loser.

"And even Astrid does hit you when your sarcasm proves too ambiguous."

"Glad you think her violence is good for something," Hiccup gripes. "And what do you mean 'even Astrid'?"

"She understands when you're being sarcastic more frequently than anyone else," Fishlegs shrugs.

"I'm not that hard to understand," he scowls, "But she does almost always get it. I mean, she must be neurally connected to me or something, I can't slip anything by her."

"She loves you," Fishlegs says sagely, "Love rewires your brain. Like I guarantee right now I could list the ten people Ruff most wants to punch at this moment, in order."

"That's useless."

"You're number 7."

"You're for the tip," Hiccup turns into his driveway, suddenly incomprehensibly lonely. "I've sort of made friends with this girl who goes to my prosthesist. Is it bad if my biggest complaint is that she doesn't get jokes that don't start with 'knock knock'?"

"Not _bad_, per say, but I don't see that communication being particularly feasible," Fishlegs laughs.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're barely 10 percent serious, tops."

"I'm serious. I'm plenty serious…" Hiccup insists, digging for an argument. He misses joking, he misses implied understanding and comfortable silence. "And she's actually nice to me," he defends feebly.

"That sounds boring," Fishlegs shakes his head, laughing, and it's so poignantly true that Hiccup is momentarily quieted. He turns into his driveway, coasting across the driveway and pulling up near the garage.

"It's not boring," he lies, frowning.

"What? Are you just right all the time?" The blonde boy is almost hysterical, unmanly giggles leaking out between baffled words. "Come on, let's go inside before you say anything else ridiculous."

And that's why he went to Heather in the first place.

00000

Astrid could never convince her dad to turn the heat up. She always got a too long lecture about electricity bills and modern, pampered dandy-boys, and how being cold would help her lose weight anyway and she had track coming up. She stopped asking at some point, when he got crazier and the drinking got heavier and leaving her room at night became nearly suicidal.

Saturday night, after a day watching sports movies with Ruff, falling asleep couldn't be more difficult, shivering and wrapped around Spike's rumbling self.

Why does the team always win in the end? Why do they always get the girl, or the family, or the trophy? Even if they don't they gain some inexplicable greater understanding of goodness or morality, or some other blather nicked from Hallmark. Sometimes, they should stay stuck in the ghetto, or get out and miss everything about home until they go insane.

Or maybe they get out, and after the credits there's a scene showing them throwing it all away for silence, like some pale imitation of a Marvel teaser at the end of some superhero movie Hiccup has seen 15 times.

She shivers more violently and her eyes stay stubbornly open.

She knows it's not cold, the thermostat in the hallway says 65, and normally that's comfortable.

It's a comfortable temperature when she's still warm from Hiccup's kisses, left with more than the barely there tickle still vibrating from that morning. It's a comfortable temperature when she can stand the weight of the blankets on top of her, instead of assuming they're holding her down and kicking them off the second she goes to sleep.

She thought about her dad too much today. Thought about how she'd swallow everything and store it in a capsule beneath her skin to be closed forever like Pandora's box was supposed to be.

The clock reads 1:12 by the time Astrid starts snoring, mumbling incoherencies under her breath. Her sleep proves restless and she tosses and turns, holding a pillow so tightly that the feather quills stab through the case into her hands, and deepen her sleeping frown. Spike curls into an impossibly tighter ball, boxy head on her back paws as she sighs in her sleep, trying to ignore the bouncing mattress beneath her.

"Wah STOP!" Astrid finally screams, sitting bolt upright and panting too hard as she starts to shiver, sweat slicked skin impervious to the encroaching cold. Spike jolts awake with a growl, padding the two steps from the foot of the bed and licking earnestly at the side of her girl's face, whining slightly at the acrid taste of the wholly nervous sweat. "It's ok…" She mumbles after a minute, wiping a hand over her face and breathing too hard, tugging the blankets back up as best as she can, wondering why the dog didn't wake her up before it got bad this time.

She hasn't had _that_ dream in a while.

Her forehead falls to her knees as she forces herself to relax, staring at the blankets pooled in her lap as Spike worries at licking the side of her neck. She hears a creak and looks up, sleep-tangled braid flinging back and slapping her shoulders.

Of course Hiccup is standing in doorway.

"I didn't say you could come in," she barks, voice more fluttery as it should be as she wipes sweat off of her forehead.

"It sounded like you were crying."

"And that's your business because?" Astrid frowns at her hands, still imprinted with the harsh quills from a moment ago.

"It's kind of hard to ignore someone waking up screaming across the hall," and he's too _kind_, that ever annoying _goodness_ radiating off of him in waves. She's missed that like fresh air, or running after a week off. In the moment, she's completely comfortable with him, and hates her inability to hold a grudge against him. She exhales a shuddering breath and hugs Spike tightly, resting her forehead against her muscled neck.

"Stupid nightmare."

"Do you need to talk about it?" He asks, half curious and half clinging to whatever not fighting interaction this is.

He's going to be nice. He's not going to hurt her. He's going to be the guy who listened when Scott Nout didn't.

He wonders where that guy has been.

"No."

"It might help." She glares at him, eyes wide and watery in the moonlight seeping through the blinds. He wishes he'd thought to grab a crutch instead of slipping into his leg. Then he could have been here faster, climbed into bed with her, and she would be physically incapable of keeping him at arms' length anymore.

No matter what she thinks of his leg, he can't stand to see her falling apart like this. It physically hurts, like a phantom pain, nagging and irrational.

"It's stupid," she insists, eyeing his determined face with a frown. She wants him gone, she doesn't need him weaseling his way into her mind and dumping years' worth of secrets down onto both of them in a pathetic deluge. "Naked in Math class. Didn't study for the test," she sighs, pushing sweat soaked bangs off of her face. "Just an average nightmare."

"You kept saying _stop_—"

"Yeah, I wanted them to stop handing out the math test so I could _get dressed_." The last two words catch prophetically in her throat and she coughs.

"You always study—"

"It was just a stupid dream, Hiccup!" She shouts, and Spike climbs fully onto her lap, licking worried at the still sweaty side of her face, whining low in her throat. "I'm fine. I've got Spike," she says to a point three feet above Hiccup's head, avoiding eye contact at all costs.

She wishes he'd come over here, just climb into bed and they could go back to sleep.

She wishes she could ask.

She hates that she's too scared to ask. The possibility he'd say no hovers like a storm cloud and it's suddenly so much harder to breathe.

"Do you want me to stay?" He asks and her heart plummets through her stomach.

"No. I've got Spike," she shuts him down, holding back a painful sob bubbling to the back of her throat. It's not safe right now. The dangerous words float on the tip of her tongue, so close to pouring out and drowning them both. "Just a dumb nightmare."

"Ok…if you're sure," he mumbles, rubbing a hand up the back of his neck and looking at her so impossibly fondly that she feels like she could melt. "Keep it down?" He jokes with a tentative smirk, and she laughs at the sheer inappropriateness. She wants to hug him, she remembers _why_ she loves him and her entire body throbs.

Maybe it'd be ok to tell him, maybe he'd joke and—

That's insane. She'd see how fast he can actually run.

"I'll try."

"Goodnight."

"Yeah," she stares until he shuts the door behind him. When she lays back down, fluffing the pillow determined under her ear, she pretends Spike's warmth pressed against her back is Hiccup.

It's the only way to keep herself from falling right back in.

00000

"So, Astrid doesn't mind you coming over?" Heather asks on Sunday afternoon, flicking her eyes away from the TV for a moment, thumbs twitching nearly frantically on the Xbox controller. The car she's driving crashes into a group of pedestrians and she laughs.

Hiccup can't help but think Astrid would probably like this game a little too much. He can't help but think about her distraught face the night before and frown.

He should have stayed anyway. He couldn't take looking at her watery eyes once she calmed down, wondering when she'd suddenly be furious.

He wishes he could take back all those things he said.

He frowns, refusing to dwell on it right now.

"It's kind of none of her business," Hiccup asserts like he wishes he would have with Fishlegs the day before. It's easier to be bold with Heather, who never saw his weak-kneed past. He wants someone on his side, but somehow knows he doesn't exactly deserve it.

"She's your girlfriend…"

"Yeah, not my mother," Hiccup snarks and it feels wrong. He's beyond lucky that Astrid was willing to take care of him the way that she did, and rationally he knows that, but in the moment he's filled with misplaced resentment. "Not that—I mean, I just want—Never mind."

"Oooh, trouble in paradise?" She croons, leaning forward and concentration as the blare of false sirens echoes through the room.

Heather's house is nice, sitting in a posh cul-de-sac in the richer suburb of town. There's an iPad installed in the kitchen wall, and the fridge _talks_. There's a 100 inch TV in the living room hooked up to more game systems than he'd ever want, and each bathroom has a Jacuzzi tub. He's used to living in a big house, but the lavish electronic aspect is strange even to him.

He can't seem to focus on staring around the room, because Heather's leg is detached and sitting on the bottom shelf of the coffee table. He's trying really hard not to _care_.

It feels uncomfortably personal, like she took her bra off or something, and he's oddly aware of the orthopedic straps digging into his thigh. It definitely doesn't make him want to talk about anything personal. It feels like she's suckering him somehow, like he's forced to listen and care because she's revealed that personal vulnerability.

It's like late night TV, when Sarah McLachlan comes on and shows all those horrible pictures of abused animals, and he's reaching for his wallet for the fourth time this week, calling in a donation under another fake name.

Despite that supposed manipulation, there's something oddly seductive about telling someone who might side with him. Someone who doesn't know Astrid, someone who has reason to support him over her.

"It's less paradise and more…Disneyworld on the first week of summer vacation."

"So crowded?" Heather frowns. "Is your aunt visiting or something?"

"My aunt, what? I don't have an aunt," he frowns and she glances at him.

"Disneyworld is crowded, so I figured your life must be crowded," she shrugs and he resists the urge to roll his eyes.

"Joke," he tells her flatly, wiping a hand over his face. "It's not paradise."

"Oh," Heather laughs, comprehending, "I'm not really surprised, she wasn't very nice the other night."

"What?" Hiccup frowns, suddenly lost in remembering that ever wonderful concern for him. He thought she was plenty nice.

"She kept threatening to punch me," Heather reminds him as if it means something.

"Oh that?" He laughs, disappointed in himself at just how _fond_ he sounds. "That's just her."

"She's always threatening to beat up disabled people?" Heather asks aghast, and for a second Hiccup sees that she's _only_ looking at his leg.

"You aren't _disabled_," Hiccup blurts and Heather laughs.

"Sure I am," she frowns at the TV, leaning as she swerves down a busy road. "One-legged-ness is a definite disability."

Hiccup frowns and thinks hard, staring at the aimless chase on the screen in front of them. He guesses he would be eligible for the Paralympics, if he were talented, but _disabled_? It takes him longer to get out of bed in the morning, and sure, he isn't exactly going to be modeling anytime soon, but he's not _disabled_.

That sounds so deafeningly permanent, so completely and utterly defeatist that he wonders why he's still trying.

_Disabled_.

If he's disabled, he's already _placed_, already finished and directed. Invention and progress is…useless? Maybe?

"Yeah, but it's not…life altering or anything," he defends and she looks at him like he's insane, crashing her on-screen car.

"I don't know, my life seems pretty altered," Heather shrugs, almost smug. "People look at me differently. People expect less of me."

"Yeah, and you could say the same thing about ugly people, or stupid people, or short people." He defends, liking his version of reality more than whatever defeatist yarn she's spinning.

"Did you just call me pretty?" Heather asks with an overt grin and Hiccup's eyes widen.

"Not on purpose," He assures her, jolting abruptly and gesturing to the video game. "The cops caught you."

"Dammit," she gripes, still smiling as she turns back to the TV.

00000

**So. Lots of things. **

**I'd like to hear your opinion about everything, of course, but mostly I'm really interested in the opinion on Heather…**

**I've been keeping track of that. **

**And I'm also intensely interested in how you guys are feeling about Hiccup now. **

**And just so everyone knows…next week, we go M…**


	9. Chapter 9

**Holy Cow! 51 reviews for the last chapter? You guys are fantastic. **

00000

"Come on," Astrid knocks on Hiccup's door for the third time since she's been awake, utterly frustrated. "We've got to leave in five minutes. What are you doing in there?" He mumbles something and she groans, leaning her forehead against the door. "Can't _hear_ you."

She tried to corner him in the shower last night, but it ended up being too…absurd, not nerve-wracking at all. She stood in his bedroom, wrapped in a bathrobe in case Ruff's nudity idea suddenly made sense, staring at his bathroom door until the shower clicked off and she ran back to her room, trusting Toothless to keep her secret.

Then she sat in silence in her room for an hour and a half, staring at her calculus book and wondering if it was some sort of manual in a foreign language. Maybe if she spoke integrals, he'd listen, and everything would be known without saying _anything_.

She should have said something Saturday night. He was right there, right across the room, and she—

"I'm not going to school," he says more loudly, his voice decidedly downtrodden. She frowns, tapping idle knuckles against the wood.

"Are you sick?" She asks, slightly less furious as she checks her watch. How is she supposed to be angry when he sounds like that? The love that's been driving her crazy pulls hard towards the doorknob.

"No."

"Then why aren't you going to school?" She taps her foot on the floor, antsy and overwhelmed by the sometimes still foreign desire to _care_ for him.

"Do you _really_ care?" He snarks, suddenly caustic and she lurches back from the door like she's been burned.

"Of course—"

"Aren't you going to be late?" He asks and she growls, kicking the bottom of the door.

"Yes. Yes, I am." She feels absolutely nauseated when she whirls and storms down the hallway, keys jangling in her hand with Spike trotting nervously at her heels.

He's just not going to school? How is that even an option?

Only Hiccup would make up some completely alternate option like that. Oh, so he's supposed to be athletic to be hot? Might as well have asthma and one leg and be completely alluring. That'll mess with everyone.

Oh, and it's not _normal_ to have a wild animal as a pet? Better adopt one and befriend it and then make everyone else love it too. Because no one can just be normal and go to _school_.

Before she can realize the cyclical nonsense of her thoughts, she's standing back at his bedroom door, leaning on the cool wood with a frown emblazoned onto her face. She pulls her phone out of her pocket and dials the front office, clearing her throat.

"Hello, this is Angela at Berk High School, how can I help you?"

"Hi, my name is Astrid Hofferson and I need to call in an absence," she says in her sweetest tone and the woman makes a sound of recognition.

"What's the reason for the absence?"

"Henry Haddock isn't feeling too well…" She waits briefly for affirmation.

"Yes, he just called in."

"Good, well, he…he needs a little _help_ being sick, I hope you understand?" Astrid lies politely, subconsciously gnawing on a sharp corner of her ragged thumbnail.

"That will be no problem at all Miss Hofferson, give Mr. Haddock my best," the woman says, obviously lost to idolizing young love, and Astrid grins.

"I will, thank you." She hangs up the phone and sets her backpack on the floor, tucking her phone in the side pocket. She stands there a moment, waiting for some sort of recognition from Hiccup before her patience runs out and she knocks on the door. "I'm not going to school either."

"I _do_ understand English, I got that much." He snarks and she sets her jaw, fiddling with the doorknob.

"Five second warning, I'm coming in," she says, frustrated and counting backwards in her head before swinging the door open and leaning on the frame, cocking her hip.

"That was only four seconds," Hiccup mumbles, curling in on himself in his bed. He's lying facing the wall, with the blankets pulled tight over his shoulders. His hair is sticking out of the cocoon in an auburn puff and his short leg looks absolutely bizarre, the blanket stretched over his uneven feet.

If this isn't cornering, she doesn't know what is.

"What's wrong?" She snaps, too irritable as she subconsciously checks her watch, feeling late for no realistic reason.

"I stayed up too late being awesome," he gripes sarcastically and she rolls her eyes. "I just want to sleep."

_Disabled_. That's not a word that leaves quickly, it sticks around, like honey in a measuring cup. His psychiatrist has said from the beginning that there'd be days he couldn't convince himself to get out of bed, it just so happens this is the first since that infection forced him down.

Maybe this would be easier if he just starts doing what everyone expects. He should just spend his time with people like him, and enjoy his handicapped parking in peace.

"I'm not stopping you from sleeping," his head turns and she catches a glimpse of a sour, emerald green eye before he pulls the comforter over his head, disappearing completely from view. "Oh come on," she blurts, scowling in his general direction.

She hates this consuming feeling of helplessness, and suddenly she's back in the hospital, watching him waste away, completely useless. She wonders briefly where Toothless is before stepping forward, swallowing her pride as she sets her hand on what she thinks is his shoulder, shaking him lightly.

She can't be mad at him, and it's somehow horrible. She should be furious, but all she wants to do is make sure he's ok.

She wonders if that means she loves him, or that she's gone absolutely soft.

"What?" Hiccup snaps, peeling the cover over his head and whirling to glare at her. She steps back, raising her hands to hover over him briefly, before crossing her arms and glaring back.

"Did you not hear me? I'm staying home."

"Woohoo, good for you." He rolls back over, scooting closer to the wall, away from her.

"Where's Toothless?" She asks, staring at her toes. Maybe the wolf will have a better shot at battering through his thick head.

Maybe she'd be better off in her room with Spike.

"You fed him, didn't you?" He snips and she nods, before realizing he can't see her.

"Of course."

"Then I'm guessing he's napping on the couch." Hiccup curls further in on himself, hugging a pillow to his chest and making Astrid wish it were her. She scowls, struggling to hold onto her ire.

"Do you want me to get him?"

"No, I want you to leave me alone," he snaps, and her heart sears, suddenly painfully alive in her chest.

"Tough luck."

"Seriously Astrid." He's suddenly exhausted, his voice drained.

"I'm not leaving," she asserts, unzipping her jacket and letting it fall to the floor with a sigh. "Do you want me to sit on the floor? Because otherwise I'm going to sit by you." It sounds momentous and she hates it. He sighs loudly, tugging the blankets impossibly tighter around his shoulders.

So now, she suddenly cares. As soon as he has his leg off, and he's vulnerable, she'll come stomping in and being so unreasonably beautiful and…and…

And on top of everything he's been an absolutely horrible boyfriend lately, and she's still _here._

Like always.

"Sit anywhere you want. Not that you wouldn't have done that anyway," he snaps, hating the bitter words at the same time as he doesn't know what he'd do without their cover.

"What's that supposed to mean?" She asks, stepping over to sit on the foot of his bed, toeing her shoes off with the help of his bedframe.

"Exactly what I said," he scoots away from her, groaning quietly when his good knee smacks against the wall not at all gently.

"Well, call me _stupid_, but—"

"Did you ever consider that I wanted to stay home to be _alone_?" He snaps, jerking the covers underneath her hard enough that she topples sideways, catching herself on his footboard. She glares up at him, instantly frustrated when he's again hiding under the covers. It's a reflex to fling herself upwards, grabbing the edge of the comforter and yanking it away from his face.

He looks at her incredulous, wrenching the blanket back and glaring as she furiously totters backwards. She reaches out blindly to grab an anchor and keep from falling off of the bed, and her hand wraps around something under the covers. She pulls herself back up only to have her handhold kick out violently, dumping her onto the floor with an 'oof.'

"What the hell, Hiccup?" She pushes herself to her knees and yanks on the comforter, feeling like an indignant child as she tears the sheets to the floor. He's aghast, flushing crimson as he sits, panicked and tucking his bad leg behind him with an absolutely searing glare.

And on top of everything, she just grabs his leg like that?

"Privacy, Astrid! I just wanted some privacy," he rants, yanking the blanket back from the floor, hastily covering his legs and straightening his tee-shirt.

"Why did you shove me off the bed?" Part of her is furious that he was even strong enough to move her that easily and she crosses her arms, embarrassed as she stands.

"Why did you grab my…my…-why do you always do this? You're obsessed with pushing my buttons—"

"I'm not pushing your buttons! I'm trying to figure out what's going on with you!" She defends, her voice suddenly uncomfortably distraught.

"Look, Astrid—I—I get it, alright? You can just go and be all _perfect_ again, and hang out with Scott, and everyone else as _perfect_ as you—"

"What the hell has gotten into you? They're your friends too, and if anyone's new Mr. Popular, it's you. Remember how I sat at home alone on Friday while you were out _partying_?" She asks, cringing away from his caustic words, and he laughs miserably, tugging the blanket up around his chest.

"Look, Astrid…I get it, alright? You thought—You tried, ok? You can give up now, it's all fine, we don't need to keep _pretending_—"

"Pretending what?"

"That my _stump_ doesn't freak you out—Ouch!" He yelps, lurching backwards as she punches him in the shoulder, clambering onto the edge of the bed and cocking her fist menacingly. The gesture feels posed and fake and she settles for crossing her arms, face set into a stern grimace.

"That _is _what this is all about!" She roars, "And that's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

"Well, Valentine's Day was a disaster, and ever since you can barely bring yourself to _touch_ me, what was I supposed to think—Seriously, don't hit me again," he warns, flinching back as she awkwardly lowers her arm, glaring at him.

"Why would you think that it had anything to do with your leg?" She asks, incredulous and furious.

"Well, it's not exactly _hot_ now is it?" He snaps and she hits him on the thigh, her glare intensifying. "Ok, domestic abuse," he accuses, trying to joke away the situation and she reaffirms her harsh expression.

"So I'm not allowed to be mad, or upset, or conflicted without it suddenly being about your leg?" She asks, daring him to answer.

"What were you conflicted about?"

"Answer my question!" She snaps.

"I don't know! I just got to thinking that the main difference—I'm not—Scott had two feet and he never had a problem," he accuses and she crosses her arms, leaning back affronted.

"Is that what this is about?" She says, suddenly too calm and quiet, cocking her head and staring at him. "Is—You were just in this to have sex with me? Because Scott never had a _problem_?" She laughs miserably, cradling her head in her hands as everything makes absolutely perfect sense for the first time in months.

Perfect, horrible sense.

"Astrid—"

"And then when you took me on a _date_," she sneers, "and started moving my clothes around," the accusation sounds bizarre but she plows forward, "and I didn't respond the way you wanted me to…why didn't you just dump me then?" She finishes, voice falling flat to a remarkably pitiable mumble.

Hiccup is stunned, and he stares at her, searching for wounds refusing to heal under the pretty veneer.

"I wasn't trying anything," he admits slowly, and something earnest until recently missing in his voice makes her look at him. "I just—you were wearing that dress, and you looked so _beautiful_, and I got carried away—"

"You weren't trying anything?" She cuts him off as he starts to babble and _melt_ her.

"Honestly, I hadn't even thought about it—Ow!" He yelps as she slugs him in the arm.

"No! You can't say that, not after—Why don't you have to think about it, but I do?" She asks bizarrely, the words swirling together into some cruel joke. "This all started because I hadn't thought about it yet, and now you're telling me—"

"Astrid—" He sits up fully, holding his hands out like he's calming a circus lion and she flinches back, wishing she was at school.

"You're a hypocrite—"

"Astrid, I've thought about it, ok? I just—It just never seemed like an immediate future kind of thing," he amends quietly and she falters, glaring at him. "I mean—It's—I don't know how long any of this is supposed to take, I've never had a girlfriend and I've sure never been that close to…anything like _that_, and you looked down at my leg and—"

"You do realize that I knew about the leg before you ever did, right? I was there in the hospital when they wheeled you out, and I _knew_—I still—I never loved you when you had two feet, or at least I never admitted it." She almost screams, crossing her arms to keep herself from slapping him upside the head. "My _boyfriend_ has one foot."

"So I'm still your boyfriend then?" He asks, and she exhales sharply between her teeth, deliriously frustrated.

"What would make you _ask_ something like that?" She wipes at her suddenly itchy eyes with the back of her hand, pushing to her feet before a long-fingered manacle of a hand latches around her bicep tugging her too effortlessly back to the bed. "Let me go." She orders, her voice cold, and he holds on.

But the grip is gentle, tender even, and she can't bring herself to be mad at him for it.

"You really don't care about my leg?" He asks, too quiet and she stares at the texture of the carpet.

Disabled fades to the background as the world seems somehow impossibly righted.

"Of course I care about your leg. I care that you don't insist on walking more than you have to, and I care that you shouldn't walk on ice without me—something to hold onto. And I care that you're in here obviously freaking out about it, but it doesn't seem like something you should just _tell_ me."

It's the worst possible time for her problem to hit her in the head like an anvil. Her breath catches in her throat and she almost gags, bile welling up in her throat like poison.

Her dad. Her dad. Her dad.

Her dad.

She's the hypocrite. She should take her own advice.

It shouldn't be a problem. She shouldn't let it be a problem.

In the moment, she swallows hard and _refuses_ to let it be a problem. Not right now, maybe later, when things are ok. Maybe it's something they'll talk about before college, or when they graduate.

When she fully leaves childhood behind.

"I—I didn't think you wanted to hear," he admits, and his figurative nakedness in the moment nearly drowns her with guilt. She throws the misplaced emotion into attempting to comfort him.

"Of course I want to hear. I love you," she turns to stare at him, crossing her arms...comfortingly. "And we've both been hearing for months from your shrinks that you weren't upset enough." She sighs, wiping her eyes. "It's fine for you to be upset. It's not fine for you to…bottle it up like this."

"Well, excuse me if you weren't exactly supportive—"

"You've got the wrong girlfriend if you're pining for 24 hour support, Hiccup," Astrid gripes. "I'm trying, I've been trying for months."

"I know you have," he mumbles, and she feels out of place. Her hand lands gently on his shoulder and she squeezes. They both relax at the contact.

"What made you think like this?" She asks quietly and he shrugs, shoulders lithely contracting beneath his shirt. Some well-hidden portion of her brain likes it a little too much and she frowns, worried about diving into _that_, especially so soon.

He's thought about it. And even though it makes her mysteriously nauseous and ignores that steadfast wall across her brain, she wonders exactly what he had in mind.

Not yelling at him is blissful. She doesn't want to yell at him.

"Heather said—Do you think—Is this," he gestures to his knee and swallows too loudly, "this isn't really a _disability_ is it?"

"A _disability_?" She asks, aghast and suddenly driven to track Heather down and wring her neck for being a drama-causing, attention-seeking _person_.

Her insults are rusty.

"Yeah, I guess—I hadn't realized I was disabled—"

"You're not disabled," Astrid rolls her eyes, suddenly ferocious. "Or…well, even if you were, your freakish brain would make up for it. Plus, there are plenty of perfectly healthy people who are too lazy to walk or get out of bed in the morning," she amends, unable to wrap her brain around the foreign concept of Hiccup being anything but vital.

Even in the hospital, it'd been unimaginable that he could fade away. And now, it's definitely impossible that he's living as some shadow of who he was before.

She's suddenly stuck for the second time today, remembering him still and white, and she'd do anything to know he's awake and ok. She can't let Heather step in and confuse him as to what kind of guy he is.

He's _Hiccup_, and all the stubborn, annoying vitality that entails.

Heather is disabled, but it has nothing to do with her leg. Something gets switched off in the brain if someone is babied for too long. Astrid swears she could feel the switch toggling back in high school, when one person too many thought it was their place to praise her, but reality always smacked hard enough when she got home to slam her to the other end of the spectrum.

She likes the middle. She likes being able to hug and talk and well, she kind of hates the split knuckle. It reopens every time she moves her hand, and reminds her of acting like…like she did.

It reminds her of asking for it.

"I want to agree," he admits with a tired grin and she looks at him sternly.

"Then agree."

"And another thing, why exactly were you so friendly with Scott last week?" He doesn't realize that he still has a problem until it spills out of his mouth. He guesses any partial solution that occurred the other night was wiped out by the ensuing fight.

Somehow, her sitting on the bed next to him when they should be at school is a better Band-Aid than anything else he's thought about trying.

"Is _that_ still an issue?" She scoffs, aghast. "God, Hiccup, we talked. I laughed in his face when he tried to flirt with me. It was…It made me miss you, but mostly it was just weird, and annoying, and _funny_." She explains quietly. "And then his reality came back—and Scott is dating that freaking sophomore who thinks it's ok to think about you—" Astrid explains quietly, feeling mean and whole and young.

"How would you feel if I gave you the silent treatment and went and chatted with one of my numerous ex-girlfriends?" He half jokes, and she frowns, clueless.

"You kind of ran off and partied with _Heather_," she snips, losing the battle to remain taciturn on the subject.

"I never went out with Heather for three years," he shrugs. "She's just a friend."

"You've never gone out with anyone for three years," she reminds him bluntly.

"Thanks for reminding me."

"I get your point," she admits, but she doesn't like the way Heather looks at him. This isn't the time to bring that up, just when it's starting to look like they might be alright. "But—it's _Scott_, Hiccup. You know what an idiot that guy is."

"Why'd you date him in the first place?" He scoffs and she thwacks his upper arm with a frown.

"Hey, stop distracting. We were talking about your leg." He stares at her with an almost convincing blank face. "So talk."

"I don't have anything to say."

"Sure, you don't," she rolls her eyes. "You're missing multiple science classes on purpose, and you're trying to convince me it's no big deal?"

"Yup, how's that going for me?" When her fist connects with his bicep, it's fond and he grins sheepishly, hoping to get out of the conversation. She stares at him, pointedly un-amused. "I'm…I can't get used to it. Every day it's still strange and _there_ and…"

"You know that sounds normal," Astrid reminds him, reaching out tentatively and wrapping her hand around his.

"Everything can seam normal from the outside," he grumbles.

"I'm not as far away from this as you think I am."

She wants to tell him that she knows what it feels like to lose something that should be _reliable_. She knows what's it's like to have a support system demolished under her feet, and she knows what it's like to keep the secret bottled up.

She wants to tell him everything, but nothing sounds like enough.

After a too silent minute, she settles for squeezing his fingers in her own, feeling wonderfully closer than she has in a week at the same time as they're still so far from where they were. She wants him closer, and warmer, and even more impossibly real than he is right now.

She wants to fix this. She wants it to be ok, so that he's never alone to deal with the Heathers of the world again.

"This helps," he admits quietly, squeezing her hand and nodding slowly.

"What does?"

"You."

He looks at her shyly, sideways, and he's the Hiccup who wore a green cast into school with skinny arms and demure averted eyes.

"Me what?"

"You're…I've been an ass-hat," he confesses with a suddenly determined nod. "I'm sorry."

"It's…It's ok," she swallows all the individual points that spring to life in her mind. The instances that she wants to bring up and extricate specific apologies for.

It's not worth it. She wants them to be ok.

And when she looks at him, really looks at him, he's the Hiccup she loves, and that's what really matters. That's all that matters.

"So now we've got a day off, what's the plan?" He asks with a laugh and a poorly swallowed yawn.

His usually pale skin is even more translucent than normal, freckles standing out like flecks of coal on snow. She frowns, almost reaching up to brush her thumb against the bluish bruises spreading in waves of exhaustion under his eyes.

It reminds her of how tired she is, and how much she's missed him these past few freezing nights.

She should have asked him to stay on Saturday, it wouldn't have been hard. She should have just _asked_.

"Maybe you should try and get some actual sleep," she suggests, voice unnaturally kind as she leans in, kissing him almost chastely on the lips and letting her hand rest on his knee.

"Geez, that's what I was _trying_ to do in the first place, before you come barging in here and insisting on—Ow, I didn't miss the violence." He informs her, blushing happily and shaking his head.

"Lay down," he follows her direction, rolling onto his side facing the wall and waiting for her to climb off of the bed. She doesn't exactly surprise him when she slips under the covers, spooning up against his back, impossibly warm and close as she slings her arm around his waist.

It's easier than words. It's easier than apologies, and speeches, and knitting the recent gap between them together with more itchy-eyed empathy.

It feels…right, and she's overwhelmed with how much she missed touching him.

"Hi…" he mumbles as she snuggles further into him, her hot breath seductive through the cotton of his tee-shirt.

"What?"

"Nothing," he backpedals, tensing slightly as her hand slides under the hem of his shirt, warm on his stomach. The contact feels unbearably good after the week of so unbearably little and he can't help but relax, tired and heavy and _alive_.

He's so completely _Hiccup_, in this moment, scrawny and comfortable under her arm that the snippet of skin on skin contact actually feels natural, comfortable. Her thumb strokes idly across the sparse hair trailing down his lower stomach. It makes her face hot and she presses her forehead against his back between his shoulder-blades, shrugging the comforter up above her shoulders and burrowing further into her cocoon.

They aren't fighting. She wants to make sure they aren't fighting.

Not doing anything started the fight in the first place…maybe if she does something. Just a little something.

And he said _it_ wouldn't be something he was looking for in the immediate future…maybe she can stretch that future.

Plus, if this is all about him feeling less than attractive, it'll only be _bracing_ if she works on convincing him. It's not even lying, it's just changing the way she expresses her fascination.

"How long have you been thinking about your leg like this?" She asks, and can't help but be gratified when his answering voice is low and shockingly husky in his throat. She's too warm, and has no particular interest to change that, comfortable basking in the heat.

She's been cold for too long.

"Well, since everything disastrously failed," he mumbles and she hugs him tighter, folding her trapped arm against his lower back as her knees fold to mesh behind his.

"_Everything_ didn't disastrously fail."

"It kind of did," he groans, embarrassed and confused all over again.

"I—" she sighs against his back, pointedly laying her hand flat against the smooth skinny surface of his stomach, caressing the almost lines of his abs with soft fingertips. She can feel the blunted line of his missing foot against her shin and it makes her brave.

Sometimes, for beautiful, unsustainable moments, it's impossible to confuse Hiccup with anyone else, and touching him is remarkably obvious and comfortable.

Her fingers brush against the waistband of his flannel pants and he jumps, goose-bumps breaking out along the strip of skin. She smiles against his back, feeling powerful in the best of ways.

"Astrid, you don't have to do anything now, that's now what I was trying to—I wasn't asking for anything." he grits his teeth, hating himself for saying it. Her touching him like this is intoxicating, but if it's false…well, his self-esteem is a little more than battered as is. He doesn't exactly need her acting terrified of the morning wood that's suddenly overwhelmingly apparent a few inches away from her fingers. "I don't want to jump into anything…"

The words sound horribly presumptive and he flushes.

"That's not my…intent," she confesses diplomatically, and he feels her eyebrows against his back as she frowns. "Does this feel good?" She asks after a minute, drawing mindless swirls over his hipbones with curious fingers. She lets the top of her foot rest against the blunted end of his short leg, and he's Hiccup.

Absolutely no one but Hiccup. She's drunk off of the soft hair tickling her forehead when she looks up, and the warm cedar scent radiating off of his skin.

"No…not at all, absolutely horrible," he mumbles jokingly and she grins.

She wants him to feel good. It's the same feeling she gets when she rubs his shoulders after he's spent too long hunched forward doing homework, or when she wakes him gently on a lazy Saturday morning instead of shaking his shoulder.

"Really? I figured it might be at least a little bit…interesting," she lets the tips of her fingers dip under the waistband of his pants, dragging along a quarter inch of hidden flesh before tugging back, snickering at the way he twitches.

Doing _something_ suddenly doesn't seem so difficult.

And what's a little caulk to fill in the cracks? He doesn't need to know anything right now. And there's still a chance she'll figure out everything on her own, and he won't ever need to know.

"Oh, it's _interesting_."

"Is it?" She mumbles, tugging herself closer and resting her cheek against his back, unable to tell if the heat is from her blush, his surging heartbeat, or both.

Maybe this can be enough. Maybe doing this is good enough to keep everything together.

"Wasn't I supposed to be sleeping?" He asks with a nervous laugh, wide awake and staring at the wall.

Or maybe he's not wide awake. Maybe this is a dream.

Except she's practically playing footsie with his short leg, caressing the stump with her toes, the feeling shockingly intense. A little weird…but he's got a sneaking suspicion it's in an attempt to make him feel ok about his leg.

He'll feel ok about the existence of _dragons_ if she wants him to, as long as her fingers continue doing _that_.

Her fingers dip further under his waistband, skirting the edge of what must be _hair_ before she flushes and pulls back, dipping a curious thumb into his navel and stalling.

"I'm not stopping you from sleeping," she laughs, feeling delightfully bubbly and listening to his pounding heart. "But your heart's going a bit fast…are you alright?" She grins, pushing her pinky under his pants and boldly into the warm thatch of hair she dares to find. He squeaks.

"I'm…erm…yeah," he squints his eyes shut, resisting the urge to pinch himself and wake up. She hooks a leg over his, her toes curling around the edge of his stump and keeping him present.

Hiccup. Hiccup, Hiccup, Hiccup.

Maybe it's because she's in control, and he's wonderfully shy, but probably it's because she's not vulnerable. But this is supremely…intriguing.

"You don't sound alright," she kisses his back through his shirt, briefly wondering how exactly they got here from fighting, and why she isn't even remotely tempted to stop. Her ring finger joins her little finger.

Middle finger.

First finger.

Her thumb hooks on the waistband of his pants as she slides back and forth along the top, playing with the curly ticklish patch of hair.

It's another wonderfully _Hiccup_ quality, she's used to the aggressively, miserably _man-scaped_ stubble that Scott insisted was good. There's something…comforting about the almost soft blotch of curls. He twitches, heart surging faster underneath her cheek.

"I'm good," he insists, trying to adjust himself in his pants and squeaking against the warm concrete contact of her hand.

That is remarkably close to being…_something_.

God, how long has he thought about this? How many times has he imagined her wrapping her long, golden fingers around him and—he squeaks as her middle finger brushes against the crease of his thigh.

"I think you're uhh…" she struggles, falling silent as her hand slowly skims back along its path, her fingers brushing against the side of hot, hard—her eyes widen and her heart accelerates as she freezes, suddenly terrified.

Breathe.

Her middle finger twitches, and is instantly _tickled_ by hair she didn't expect and her nose fills with clean, _Hiccup_ scent. She can feel the lines of his ribs between his shoulder blades, and the slow knobs of his spine.

Her foot rubs against the base of his almost leg as her thumb lets go of its handhold and her hand slides down, gripping him with an uncomfortably heated inhale. _He_ twitches in her hand, and she smiles at his delightfully apparent sensitivity.

In a strange, inexplicable way, closeness overwhelms all those chest tightening feelings and she hugs him more tightly to her, empty hand curling against her chest.

"Erm…ok, uh…" he stutters, his spine stiffening and melting as she adjusts her grip, pensive and oddly curious as her thumb tightens down enough to make him squirm.

"Ok?" She asks, twisting her grasp slightly and laughing, nervously relieved and amazed as he twitches again.

"Don't laugh at me," he laments sarcastically, too excited and overwhelmed to really despair. She buries her face in his shirt, inching up the bed slightly and resting her nose against the joint between his neck and shoulder, biting her lower lip and moving her hand slowly on him. He squirms and she smiles quietly to herself.

"I'm laughing with you," she mumbles, compulsively kissing a freckle on his neck and smiling when he groans low in his throat. She hooks her chin over his shoulder, looking down at her hand slowly moving under the covers, pumping slowly, almost rhythmically along his length. Her leg tightens against his hip, knee bending back as her toes fiddle aimlessly with the hem of his pants floating around his blunted leg.

The sight is completely bizarre, at the same time salacious and utterly censored. She focuses on relaxing her anxiously spasming bicep as she's suddenly hyperaware of the shoulder seam of his tee-shirt against her lips.

Her hand grips a little tighter. She pumps a little faster.

"Not…laughing," Hiccup mumbles, closing his eyes. She glances sideways at his face, grinning to herself and ducking her head to kiss the defined corner of his jaw. He almost growls and she finds her hand speeding up further in spite of herself, working in its own rhythm.

This is…

It's really hot in here. Did…is the thermostat broken? She bites her lip, overwhelmed with the absolute presence of him.

"Umm…" She mumbles after a panting moment, cuing on a semi-spasmodic twitching against the palm of her hand, suddenly equally confident and out of her depth as she pumps onward.

She should want to duck out, but her hand doesn't agree.

"Yeah…er…ah crap…" he mumbles, breath coming in quick bursts as he tenses against her, hips bucking into her grip as he sprays against the crotch of his pants. She resists the urge to count as he softens slightly, rocking against her hand as his inhibitions take the back-seat.

As soon as he can _breathe_, he instantly flushes and hides his face in the pillow, panting quietly. She extricates her hand with a careful grin, resting her friction warm palm against his ribs and kissing the bony point of his shoulder.

"That was…" she's positively giddy at the success, rubbing her toes against his foot as she laughs into his shoulder. It wasn't scary and it was…she feels closer to him than she has in weeks. It's the rush of their first kiss all over again, and she's wondering what _this_ will be like without the drama. "I want to do _that_ again."

"I won't stop you…when I can breathe," he laughs lightly, feeling utterly successful and so close to being sure that he's dreaming.

"Was it—it was…I'm glad we stayed home from school," Astrid reels, hugging his waist and kissing the nape of his neck, more uninhibited than she's felt in years. He shivers and she grins, fingertips tracing along the wonderfully evident line at the base of his ribcage.

How did she go so long without _touching_ him?

How were they ever _friends_? How did she avoid kissing him?

"It's hot—I'm gonna—Can I have a minute?" He asks breathlessly, running a hand through his bedhead and she scoots away with a laugh, giving him a six inch berth and watching—admiring—his still heaving shoulders. "That was…I need to take off my pants." He mumbles and she almost chokes, coughing as quietly as she can against the back of her throat.

"Oh, right," she smiless to herself, calming the burst of nerves, still there but momentarily less intense. "Probably a bit of a mess…"

He nods, hair statically fanning against the pillow. Her hand finds its way back to his waist without her full permission.

"Yeah, er…excuse me…" he laughs at the ridiculousness of the situation, pushing onto a shaky elbow and waiting for her to sit on the edge of the bed. He sidles next to her, glancing at her sideways with a stupid grin. She stares at her hands in her lap, sheepishly glancing at his crotch under the blanket before mimicking the shy grin and laying back. She pivots herself under the covers and jokingly puts a hand over her eyes, curling up in the too hot bed.

"Not looking, I promise," she laughs, still giddy, willing her heart rate to slow. She curls up, listening intently to the metallic sound of him fumbling with his crutch and padding across the room. She hears him groan quietly before rustling around and dropping something in the hamper. A few drawer movements later, and after another bout of rustling he pads back her direction, climbing into bed behind her.

She scoots closer to the wall, giving him room to get comfortable and he pulls her back into him, wrapping a wiry arm around her stomach and resting his face against the back of her head. She feels his lips kiss her hair and blushes as a shaky hand rests meaningfully against her stomach, pinky drifting over the button of her jeans. Her hand lands on top of his before she can think, and she tenderly wraps her fingers around his palm, tugging it to rest against the front of her waist.

"Umm…do you not want—" He asks, an equal mixture of relieved and magnificently disappointed as she holds his hand still.

"I—" She's caught up in her momentary success. She's completely not ready to be touched and she's not sure she'll ever be. She loves him too much to do that. "I need this more." She finishes, tugging his arm more tightly around her waist and pressing her back into him, her toes idly play with the end of his shortened leg and he frowns.

"You keep doing that."

"It reminds me that it's you," she explains simplistically and Hiccup furrows his eyebrows.

"Who else would it be?" Sometimes she's so cryptic, so utterly close to saying _something_ that puzzle pieces nearly materialize in his mind.

Like when she's uncomfortable, or confused and she gets so brutal and guarded. And now, when she touches him like that, but still won't look…not that he's necessarily looking forward to that particular barrier being crossed, but—anyway, it's strange. It's like she's blocking prior experience from her mind like it's more than bad sex, or an embarrassing relationship. Like it's terrifying or—

"—listening?"

"Huh?" He asks, suddenly aware of how tired he really is as he wraps his arms more tightly around her, nuzzling shamelessly against her soft blonde hair.

"I was saying that the last couple of weeks were miserable without you," she mumbles against the arm tucked underneath her neck and he grins. "So you should listen to me."

"I got you to say that _twice_?" he marvels and she nudges him roughly with her hip, but the way her butt presses against him hardly seems like a punishment. He pulls away a few inches, doing his best to calm down his almost interest.

"Shut up. I just—" she sighs, shifting to get comfortable and hollowing her back into him. "I just want to go back to normal, you know?"

"Yeah, I second that—wait, erm…does normal include what just happened?" He asks sheepishly and she elbows him in the side, but he feels her small smile against the inside of his elbow.

"Sure, Hiccup."

00000

**So…are things really better? That's the question of the day. **

**The other question of today concerns the lemony nature of the chapter…how was it? Don't spare the feelings, but this is the first real lemony scene I've posted in a couple of years, so I'm a bit nervous…**

**I welcome and thank you all for your feedback. I'm really nervous about this one, and I really appreciate any reviews you all feel I deserve! **

**Thanks! **


	10. Chapter 10

**Sorry this is a few hours later than they have been, I just needed a bit more time with it. **

**Also, I just wanted to thank absolutely everyone, because I surpassed 400 reviews on Chapter 9, and that makes me feel so extremely thankful and lucky to have such great readers! **

00000

"Hey, Astrid," Hiccup grumbles, shaking his girlfriend's shoulder and pushing up onto his elbow, glancing at the clock. He can't help but note how relaxed she is and he blushes, almost wincing as she rocks back against him, stretching sleepily.

That feels far too good.

"Hmm?" She mumbles, wiping her eyes and stretching her arms over her head. Her shirt slides up over her hips, revealing an inch of smooth, flat skin. Hiccup gulps, still…_worked up_ from earlier. It's amazing just how quickly his brain flipped from the perpetually anxious fighting mindset to this completely novel, almost accessible arousal.

"It's 10 o'clock," he laughs as she wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him back down and rolling to face him.

"Why? Got somewhere important to be?" She mumbles, hooking her leg over his hip possessively, and immediately remembering everywhere _she_ should be. She should at least go for a run today, or something.

She doesn't want to get up. She missed this more than she thought was possible.

"No," he laughs as she yawns, tucking close to his neck and shrugging the comforter back over her shoulder. "You look comfortable."

"I _am_ comfortable," she shrugs, "and I'm ignoring all the important stuff I have to do."

"Oh, what do you have to do?" He asks and she leans in impulsively, pressing her lips to his and holding tight to the back of his neck. He responds slowly, feeling miserably out of practice as she pries his mouth open and darts her tongue in, warm and relaxed. She's so unbelievably close and almost soft, and he can feel her fingers on the back of his neck and can't help but remember what they were doing only a few hours ago.

The kissing escalates dramatically, and he rolls on top of her, momentarily confident as his bad knee slides between hers. She hooks her leg over his hip and her hand slides under the back of his shirt, glancing across his spine and landing hot and distracting against his upper back.

It's been too long since they made out in a bed, Astrid muses through her ragged breathing as Hiccup starts to loosen up, once rusty kisses suddenly fluid. His hand slides down to her waist and his lips leave her mouth, sliding and nipping down the side of her neck. He tugs her tee-shirt aside, nipping at her shoulder in a way that's almost too intimate and she pushes him back by his shoulders, sitting up halfway.

She licks her lips and smiles in spite of herself, breathing unreasonably hard.

"That was…" She laughs and he looks at her embarrassed.

"What?" He ducks his head, sitting back and trying in vain to smooth out his hair.

"No, it was good just—yeah," she murmurs, decidedly uncomfortable with the still heady blood rushing accelerated through her. She shouldn't have liked that so soon after their recent escalation, and for a moment, she feels that maybe she managed to bust through some sort of door. The warmth welling in the pit of her stomach is less hostile and more generally confusing as she reaches down and straightens her shirt, adjusting her mangled bra as inconspicuously as she can.

Hiccup tries really hard not to notice and fails dramatically, coughing into his hand and staring pointedly at the too suggestive closed door. He adjusts his pants, trying to forget how it felt earlier when she touched him.

He never realized how _smooth_ her hands are until today. Astrid just always seemed like the kind of girl who would have calluses, but he guesses she only ever brandishes weaponry in her own mind.

_Smooth_.

Even just that word is wreaking havoc on his pulse.

"So, about that important stuff you had to do?" He asks awkwardly, searching around the edge of the bed for his leg. He pulls it out from under the bed and attaches it stealthily under the covers, instantly feeling more awake.

"I should go on a run, and I know I have homework due tomorrow and—"

"That's kind of defeating the purpose of a day off, Astrid," He laughs and she glares at him. Somehow, he even missed how unrealistically driven she is.

"Day off? I leave for Worlds in eight days," she reminds him, blushing when she realizes he probably didn't know, because Gobber only told her a solid date last week. "I can have a day off once I'm back."

"8 days?" he asks, feeling astounded that so much time went by without them communicating. Sure, it's only a week and a half, but the last time they talked about Worlds, Astrid was counting down in weeks. Now it's days away, and he realizes how stressed she must have been.

He lets it be enough to forgive all the mean things that she said, at least until the pressure is off of her. Sometimes it's easier to ignore that stain on thecx corner of the rug, rather than buy new carpeting.

"Yeah," she fumbles with her fingers, frowning at her dry cracked cuticles. "A little more than a week. I mean, the actual race is a week from Friday, but still."

"Do you feel ready?" He asks, and she shrugs.

"I need to lose about 5 more pounds, or I'm not going to be fast enough," she chews the inside of her cheek. "Gobber said it wasn't necessary, but I'm not getting third on the team again."

"Third is great," he insists and she rolls her eyes, impulsively leaning against his shoulder. Everything feels so normal when he wraps his wiry arm around her shoulders that she could burst.

"I missed you," she challenges, her voice meeker than she'd like it to be.

"I missed you too," he takes the closest to an apology that he's probably going to get and kisses the top of her head in the way she hardly ever tolerates. "I have an idea," he proposes and she sits back, looking at him through narrowed eyes.

"What kind of idea?"

"Don't worry, it's a good one, ye of little faith," he teases, and she thwacks him on the chest with the back of her hand. "How about you go and run all the hellish miles that you have to, and then we watch a movie," he suggests and she sighs.

"You read my mind," she pushes off of the bed, standing and offering him a hand. He's taller than she remembers, and she hates that she didn't stand close to him for so long that she forgot how _tall_ he is.

"Ok, and I'm ordering pizza, because you're about to get hungry and yell at me," he jokes with a crooked smile, and she tries and fails to glare at him.

"That'd be annoying if you weren't right."

"I know you too well," Hiccup grins, happy that he gets to flaunt that again. It's easy enough to surmise she hasn't changed too much in a week in a half. Only so much flotsam can boil to the surface in ten days.

"Yeah," she responds, falsely cheerful as she forces the Titanic of refuse he doesn't need to know about deeper into her vow of silence. "You know me better than anyone."

At least that's not a lie.

00000

Around ten that night, Astrid slips into Hiccup's bedroom and slides into bed next to him, pressing herself against him to finagle her way around Toothless curled at the bottom corner of the bed.

"Sleeping in here tonight?" Hiccup asks unnecessarily as his arm curls almost protectively around her back.

"Yeah," she pokes him in the ribs. "And you should scoot back, Spike will probably be in when she realizes she's alone on the couch."

"We need a bigger bed," he laughs, obliging her and trying not to get lost in premature thoughts of buying a bed together. She follows him towards the wall, head finding the crook of his shoulder as she wraps a clingy leg around his hips.

"I don't know," she laughs, running a hand over his ribs and feeling the divots. "It's not like you take up that much room."

"Did you just call me scrawny?" he snickers. "Because your insults are really going down—Ow! Did you seriously just head-butt me in the jaw?"

"It was right there," she shrugs, sliding an arm under his shoulder and playing with the ends of his hair. "And you were talking."

"I'm not supposed to talk?" He asks, amused and exasperated and she punches him lightly in the side, fidgeting to get comfortable on his still almost bony arm.

"So, are you and Heather still hanging out? Or…" The question falls out of her mouth before she realizes it's on her mind. As soon as she hears the words, they're monumentally important.

The jealousy that rises in her chest is more real than the usual flippant, dramatic emotion and she chews on her lip, waiting too eagerly for an answer.

"On Sunday, I went over to her house and ended up watching her play videogames for a few hours," he shrugs and she keys on something flat in his tone.

"What? Did you want to play or something?"

"I don't know," he holds Astrid closer, fingers curling around and stroking the skin of her waist through her soft sleep shirt. He recognizes it as one of his, but he can't exactly be angry about her not asking to borrow his clothes. Talking about Heather just makes him remember missing Astrid, and every comparison he's ever made between the two girls falls to dust as his girlfriend fits into his side like a puzzle piece.

"So, if you guys are friends, I want to get to know her," Astrid insists, propping herself onto an elbow and looking at him. She slides her free hand under his shirt, resting her fingers on the side of his ribcage.

She briefly wonders what it'd feel like if he did the same, and she almost wants him to try. The thought makes her heart rate accelerate to the point of making her nauseous and she swallows too hard, her throat aching at the sudden motion.

"Sure," he shrugs. "She could probably come over tomorrow after school or something."

"Yeah, you should tell her to text me about it, I gave her my phone number last week," Astrid encourages, feeling more than a little sneaky as she presses herself against him and smiles. "Maybe we can go see a movie. I could go for a two hour break."

"Ok, but why don't I just invite her?" Rationally, he knows she was always this hot, but it's like that fight opened a door, and they just walked through this morning. She can't really blame him for reaching down and almost sliding his fingers under the tantalizingly loose waist of her sweatpants. He settles for stroking along that thick cotton waistband, dreaming of all the softness underneath.

"Because I want to invite her," Astrid's chipper tone falls flat she compensates by ducking down and kissing him slowly. He frowns and pulls back, staring at her like he's piecing together a circuit board.

"Is this some jealousy thing?" He asks after a moment and she slides off of him, more than a little defeated.

"We were fighting and you went and found some girl to hang out with," she glowers, feeling like a persecuted broken record.

"I thought we were fighting because of my leg. She understood that stuff," Hiccup insists and Astrid frowns.

"You've always told me about your leg before."

"We never fought about it before," he gripes and she freezes, heart quickening as she feels this drifting closer to the source of their fight. She's not sure exactly when she pinpointed the issue, but there's no doubt in her mind that it's her father and it's not to be talked about.

Distraction becomes her main plan of attack.

"We were fighting about me being an idiot and not realizing how _hot_ you are," the complimentary words are some strange half-truth, and she leans in, almost roughly capturing his lips with hers. He mumbles in mild protest against her mouth before it's not worth it anymore and he gives in with a sigh.

She knows he's hot, she'd be an idiot not to notice. It's just always been something visual, separate from the comfort of touching him.

Hiccup can't help but be a little shocked at the vocabulary. Happily shocked, but still surprised. That's definitely the first time she's called him hot in so many words. Ruff probably flings that particular word at him more than anybody, and that's only because she likes to make him blush. And Astrid _insulting_ herself is also new. He wonders if it's the penultimate in stoic apology, and he groans as her leg lands back across his hips and her hands nest in his hair. He relaxes into the kiss, hands sliding down her narrow back and grabbing at her waist.

It's remarkably pleasant to _feel_ him let go of that disastrous line of inquiry, and she sucks his lower lip into her mouth, nibbling on it. He digs his fingertips into her lower back with a groan, and she finds her hips rocking subtly against him before she can really stop them.

She flushes, pulling away flustered as she yanks her hips away from him and rubs her knees together.

"What'd I do?" He asks, breathless and barely joking as his hands slip regrettably off of her skin. She crosses her legs and fixes her shirt, fiddling with its soft hem and breathing as best as she can. She's throbbing in an annoying, nagging way, like a fire alarm low on batteries.

"Nothing," she forces a grin, rolling over and pressing her back against his side in an attempt to comfort herself. It doesn't work as planned and the mysterious, unwanted heat builds inside her like a forest fire. She wonders if he's worked up, and if she should offer to help. She shouldn't like that idea so much. "You're just _hot_, like I said. And it's late, and we should go to sleep."

"It's ten fifteen," he laughs, way more awake than he should be. He's nowhere near the easily excited guy he was when she first started kissing him, but this is definitely up there with the most worked up she's gotten him. He can count on one hand the number of days she didn't make out with him at least a little bit leading up to that horrible fight, but kissing has never been this potent.

That horrible fight that made him think of what it would actually be like to _be _with her, beyond boyhood fantasies.

The fight that brought her to his bed in her nicest underwear. The fight that obviously made her start to think of him that way, if this morning was any indication.

He's just happy he could forgive and move on so easily, and they could get back to everything they'd left.

Maybe the change happened when he reached under her dress, but they couldn't manage to see the lightning through the storm clouds. But everything since he kissed her outside of Ruff's house has been on another level.

She was just _grinding_ on him, like she couldn't contain herself or…like she _wants_ him.

Astrid is hot. So unbelievably hot. She's always been hot. But something about her tongue in his mouth while she grinds herself against his hips makes his blood boil in the best way possible.

So it's not exactly an atypical reaction that he wants to kiss every inch of her body right now.

Somewhere in the course of thinking, his hand found her side and is tracing mysterious lines on her ribs through her shirt. Astrid glares at him over her shoulder, breathing too hard with her legs crossed too tightly, wishing all this unbearable _heat_ would just go away.

"I'm tired," she lies, pointedly folding her arm under her head and getting comfortable. She regrets it immediately when he rolls to spoon against her and her fidgeting presses her against _something_. "I missed talking to you," she declares, legs crossed so tightly her toes are going numb as she tries to quell that unexplained second pulse in her pants.

Well, not unexplained. She's not an idiot.

She's horny. And there's really nothing to be done about it. It's toxic to a relationship. She remembers asking Scott to help her out _one_ time, and it won her leering grins and nearly tripled the frequency of necessary _performances_ for at least two weeks.

She doesn't understand why her body can't just get that nothing good is going to come of it by this point.

She wonders if some girls are just wired differently. Like Ruff, she and Fishlegs obviously have no issues, and the other girl obviously really really enjoys the physical parts of her relationship. Astrid is just happier when they aren't an issue. There's nothing wrong with talking to him, especially if she's keeping him happy in the physical department, right?

She figures she has a couple of weeks before he starts really wanting more, but for right now, she's doing enough and she'll take advantage of those weeks she has. What she doesn't understand is why her body seems focused on rushing, why every time he moves this close to her, the room gets unbearably warmer.

She exhales, curling her knees up and trying to think about anything but his hands on her.

"What do you want to talk about?" He asks, urging himself to calm down as he tries to focus on _anything_ other than the curve of her waist under the blankets.

"You know what's not fair?" Astrid starts, falsely indignant. "I'm the one going to Scotland, and you're the one who can drink in Europe."

"But your birthday is March ninth, won't you still—"

"Literally the day I come home. So I guess I can have a Guinness for breakfast," she laughs, unreasonably happy to have diverted the conversation.

"Breakfast of champions," Hiccup tells her, nuzzling at the nape of her neck and shutting his eyes. No matter how much his second brain is vying for more, he's absolutely fine with where he is.

"Goodnight, Hiccup," Astrid mumbles, curling herself into him like clay in a mold. She can feel the crest of his sternum against her shoulder blade, and his slow rhythmic breathing is like a beacon leading her to sleep.

"Love you."

"Love you too."

00000

By four o'clock on Tuesday, Hiccup is mired knee deep in his latest plan that seems certifiably impossible. Despite visiting more _questionable_ websites than he'd like to admit, he hasn't been able to find any simple, descriptive, reasonable instructions that would help him figure out what exactly girls like.

He's smart enough to know that most of what he sees isn't realistic. If he did any of that stuff to Astrid, she'd most likely gut him. And well…he'd obviously love it if she did some of that to him, but he's not exactly going to come out and ask. It seems like more of something that needs to be offered, at least the first time.

Hiccup's last ditch effort sits in front of him on the coffee table, staring up at him with its pink and blue pastels, and smiling thirteen year olds on the cover who are just so comfortable with puberty.

It's already a scam, who is he kidding? This isn't going to help.

He remembers his father awkwardly handing the book to him on his thirteenth birthday in lieu of the whole birds and bees talk. He quickly decided it was the most disappointing birthday present ever and stashed it on a bookshelf to be forgotten until 5 years later when he needs one fucking accurate diagram of how to touch a girl.

He doesn't exactly remember where he learned to masturbate, but maybe this book helped girls out, or something.

And that just reminds him of another thing he would not mind seeing Astrid do.

He really should have just started on his homework, or taken the dogs on a walk, or pulled his toenails out with pliers rather than gotten riled up on the internet in the name of research. He shakes his head and stares back at the book.

When he'd gotten it, girls had still been sort of disturbing and mysterious, and he hadn't exactly been too anxious to figure everything out. Not when he was months before his first National Latin club competition as a junior member. Sometimes it feels downright poetic that Astrid was the first and only girl to _really _interest him. He remembers a pre-growth spurt, acne-faced Fishlegs moping over girl after girl after girl until he started junior football and generated another outlet for all that energy.

God, thinking about Junior high is depressing. He's knows he's not exactly huge now, but he remembers being a seventh grader crossing his fingers for 5 feet.

He shakes it off and pulls the still crisp _guidebook_ towards him, flicking open to the table of contents. Hormones, puberty, reproductive biology, he knows all of that. Male anatomy? He's good there.

Aha, female anatomy, page 52.

He opens the book to an awkward drawing of a naked, obscenely plain woman obviously meant to be the opposite of sexy. Ok, so breasts and nipples are self-explanatory, he feels like a pervert peering down the page at the cutaway drawing of the rest of it.

He cocks his head and frowns. That's just a little more complicated than what he's used to…or at least there are more labels. Obviously, he's not entirely clueless, and he nods in grateful understanding at the crisp black arrow pointing to the clitoris.

So that's the goal.

Everything is pretty much what he assumed, and he frowns, still feeling clueless.

He's not sure if it's good or bad that he already knew as much as a puberty book could tell of him.

Half of him wants to just text Fishlegs, just jump out there and ask how to please a woman. How to make a girlfriend happy. How to not make a complete fool of himself.

How to drive a woman crazy and repay a hand job.

For dummies.

Yeah, he's pretty sure anything his friend could tell him would be drowned in a sea of awkwardness, and nothing useful would leap the communication barrier to his brain.

He could ask Astrid, if he doesn't mind her laughing at him. Which he does. But theoretically, couldn't he just walk up to Astrid and ask what she wants him to do? Wouldn't she most likely have the be all, end all answer?

Too bad it's not that simple.

He gives up, putting the book away and lugging his laptop out to the living room, sitting on the couch and turning on the TV. He's been relaxing about five minutes when gentler than normal hands land on his shoulders and he looks back expecting to get tickled by overgrown blonde bangs.

Heather stares down at him and he jumps, squirming sideways from under her hands.

"Aah!" He yelps, and she laughs at him, too nicely to really be cruel. "What are you, Kimmie Gibbler?"

"No, I'm still Heather. Astrid texted me your garage code," She slides around the couch and sits down next to him. He can't help but think it's incredibly odd that the dogs didn't run to greet her, and upon looking around, he's sees them curled together in the sun out in the backyard. He wonders if Spike is cold, but she looks anything but, grey head resting on Toothless' black fluffy hip.

He's glad they weren't inside for his _research_. They probably would have thought he was hurting Astrid, what with all those _sounds_…

What if they actually do something and Spike tries to rescue her owner? That's truly terrifying.

"But I guess she didn't think to warn me," Hiccup rolls his eyes, grinning in spite of himself upon imagining Astrid's face, laughing as she realizes how much she managed to scare the shit out of him by proxy.

"So who's Kimmie Gibbler?" Heather asks, toying with the end of her long brown ponytail.

"You know, like Full House…" He tells her slowly and she looks at him blankly before her eyes light up.

"Right! Oh, I get it. Because I let myself in without knocking," she explains the joke with a laugh before looking at him almost seriously. "You have a lot of good references, they're pretty much off the hook."

Hiccup is suddenly annoyed, and it feels out of place.

"Err, thanks."

"Oh, right. So, Astrid was saying we should pick her up after practice?" Heather starts, her upward intonation oddly distracting as she reaches out and grabs his laptop, pulling it onto her lap. "I'm going to check the traffic."

"I can just drive," he offers, somehow not noticing the grievous offense still loaded on his screen until she opens the computer and a chorus of moans rings out into the room. He snatches the machine back and hurriedly presses the exit on the internet, the embarrassing noises still ringing in his ears as he closes the computer, setting it quietly on the coffee table.

"Why were you watching porn?" She asks dumbly before shaking her flushed head. "Never mind, I think I can guess at that. Why don't you have a lock on your computer?"

"Because no one ever opens it without asking!" He responds, rightfully embarrassed, before standing and pacing because the stillness is suddenly excruciating.

"Your girlfriend never borrows your laptop?" She asks absurdly.

"No, she has her own computer," he glares at her. "And why aren't you at lacrosse practice or something?"

"I got MVP at the last game, so I gave myself a day off."

"Aren't you worried about MVP at the next game?"

"Eh, it's not like I'm playing in college anyway," she shrugs, looking almost sad.

"Why not?" Hiccup asks, enjoying the conversational diversion. Anything other than…Why didn't he just close the tab? It's not rocket science.

"Like I can take a hit from a 170 pound Division I jock," she pats her leg and looks at Hiccup seriously. "So I take it you two still haven't had sex," she grins. "I thought that was why you were all happy again." Hiccup's face falls back into a crimson blush and he stares at the wall, avoiding eye contact and feeling six inches tall.

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"You wouldn't be watching porn if you'd done it," she explains and Hiccup sighs, nesting a frustrated hand in his hair.

"Actually, it wasn't porn. It was a guide video on YouTube," he defends and she raises her eyebrows.

"It sure sounded like porn," he ignores her comments, and she continues, almost pitying. "And why do you need a guide video?"

"Why do you think?" He spits and she sighs.

"I'm sure you'll be fine. Good even," she laughs. "If you weren't dating Astrid, I'd totally have sex with you."

He smiles, feeling awkward but above all grateful for the friendship. At least she's not laughing at him, like Astrid probably would.

Is it wrong that he'd prefer Astrid laughing at him?

"I'll just say thanks," he checks the clock on the wall and double checks that his computer is shut. "And we should go, Astrid is normally done around five thirty."

He doesn't realize that it's weird when he's overwhelmingly glad that the dogs didn't wake up to run in to say hello.

00000

The car ride is awkward, Heather seems entirely over everything that happened back at the house, but it seems Hiccup doesn't recover so quickly.

He needs to learn to lock his computer. Just in case.

And exit out of the internet.

And use incognito mode.

He's suddenly beyond glad that Astrid has always been good about respecting his privacy.

They pull up in the school parking lot, and Hiccup drums his fingers on the steering wheel, looking nervously sideways before unlocking the car doors. The only thing that feels stranger than walking into a track practice without a clipboard, is bringing some strange girl to his high school and meeting Astrid.

And it's only a week after people were calling him a stud all around campus, and Astrid was acting like someone dating the school stud. He's going to have to deal with more of that, isn't he? Oh, no girls for three years of high school? That guy just had to retaliate by dating Astrid Hofferson and some other school's main babe.

He frowns, realizing that the word doesn't quite apply to Heather, but unable to determine why it sounds so wrong.

"So, are we just going to wait in the car?" Heather asks, and for a second, it really is tempting. Just stay behind the tinted windows and talk about…

He's had about enough of talking about his leg for the week. And frankly the last chat with Heather didn't go over so well…

Even if he is _disabled_, he's not quite ready to let it _change_ him.

"Actually, the coach," he gestures to Gobber, who's madly hopping around at the side of the track, yelling at someone, "is an old friend of my dad's. I should go say hi." Heather's eyes widen when she sees the man fully and she smiles brightly, teeth imperfect but blindingly white.

"No way, you didn't tell me you knew anyone else like us!" she exclaims, eagerly yanking the door handle and dropping carefully onto the icy asphalt with a click.

"Heather—" Hiccup tries to stop her, but she ignores him, shutting the car door too gently and striding confidently down towards the track. He jumps out of the car and follows her, walking up beside her. "What exactly are you going to say?"

He wonders if it's not actually normal to go discuss compression cuffs with any amputated stranger.

"I'm just going to introduce myself," she laughs, and he falters. That does sound pretty innocent.

But what is Gobber going to think? It's not every day that his star athlete's boyfriend shows up with some other girl…

Crap.

This was all a very bad idea.

"Ok. Astrid should be back from her run soon," Hiccup checks the time on his phone and looks up the main road leading away from the school. He assumes she went towards the lake, but obviously doesn't actually know and this whole thing starts mounting into something unpredictable.

"Ok, whenever," Heather shrugs, and some sixth sense tells Hiccup that Gobber has spotted them, and metaphorical heckles spring from the back of his neck.

"Hiccup! I ha'ant seen ye in ferever!" The man greets from the track and Hiccup pastes a fake grin on his face as he realizes every variable in this particular situation is an undefined. One equation, at least 4 unknowns.

"It has been a while," he greets with false enthusiasm, dodging artfully as the man aims a too strong pat to his shoulder with a metal hook hand.

"Ye comin' te pick up Astrid?" the man asks, seemingly overjoyed as he claps his good hand against his bad leg. "That's exactly what—" His eyes fall to Heather and his grin droops to match his moustache. "Who's this?"

"Hi sir, I'm Heather, I'm a friend of Henry's," she introduces, smiling and reaching her right hand out. Gobber shakes it with the hook, and appraises her unperturbed expression curiously.

"Ye are here te pick up Astrid, right?" Gobber's accent is suddenly menacing and Hiccup nods.

"We're going to see some movie?" He shrugs, and the man looks at him, almost maliciously curious.

Heather looks around awkwardly.

"I'm going to go use the restroom," she bows out, wringing her hands together in a perfect pose of worry as she backs up and gestures towards the school.

"It's…and I was about to direct you to the boys' room," Hiccup laughs nervously. "You'll find it."

"Cool, thanks."

As soon as Heather is over the hill, Gobber turns sternly to Hiccup.

"So. Last week the Thorston idiot finds 'imself propositionin' Astrid," the man numbers on his single-fingered metallic hand. "An' now there's another pretty girl showin' up to school wit ye?"

"Woah—"

"I know yer father's not around this time 'o year, but consider me a parent," he cuts the boy off. "Astrid's leaving for worlds in a week, an' no matter how tough she insists on bein' she needs the support right now."

"I know, I know!" Hiccup interjects. "Astrid invited her—"

"Oh, well… Good fer ye, lad! But that doesn't seem like the kind of thing she should be doin' the week before worlds, but I don' really see it's my place to mention it—"

"What?" the younger man squeaks, taking a step backwards.

"Oh, does this not involve ye then?" Gobber asks, rubbing his stubbled chin. "Because Astrid does have a butch streak—"

"Ok, I think we're talking about completely different things here," Hiccup says too loudly, eyes wide and face a completely novel color of crimson.

"I'm talkin' about how ye're suddenly surrounded by pretty girls invitin' each other places," Gobber clarifies. "And how ye're eighteen, and livin' the dream that most grown men don't accomplish if ye know what I mean—"

"Heather is my friend," Hiccup backpedals anxiously. "I met her at my prosthesist. When Astrid and I were…not doing so great, she talked about leg stuff with me."

"Oh," Gobber shuts up and eases back and forth between mismatched feet. "Is she—I take it she's not missin' an arm."

"Left leg," Hiccup relaxes into this shockingly less awkward conversation. "Although I guess I should be glad you _didn't_ look her up and down."

"How is that goin'?" He asks with a low, honestly _parental_ voice and Hiccup slumps forward.

"It's…I mean, you know. It's not easy, but I'm doing alright."

"Anythin' in particular you need to talk about?"

"Not really…" Hiccup stares at the floor, and the two feet where they should be four. "Do you ever feel _disabled_?" He asks and Gobber sighs.

"If anyone else asked me tha', I'd tell them only if it got me somethin' fer free," Gobber chuckles. "But the truth is, on the bad days, yes I do. Sometimes, I'd kill te not worry about where my arm is every night, and I'm sick of hatin' snow days. Some days are always gonna be bad."

"Oh," Hiccup looks down glumly.

"Not—Most days are fine," the man sets his flesh and bone hand on Hiccup's shoulder. "And the rest of 'em are livable. And disabled is relative, I lost my runnin' career," Gobber reminds him, "but I'm still coachin'."

"Thanks, Gobber."

"Anytime," the man thinks twice on that statement. "As long as ye are nice te Astrid until Worlds."

"Nice?"

"She's stressed out more'n ye'd ever believe," Gobber instructs him. "Even if she doesn't admit it."

"Alright," Hiccup crosses his heart jokingly. "No fat jokes until after worlds."

"Oh wow," Gobber laughs hysterically, slapping his thigh and pitching forward and struggling to regain his breath. "An' te think I was worried about how ye'd handle two girls—"

"Don't finish that," the red-faced boy crosses his arms and glances up the hill, where Heather is walking back down to join them. "And can you be friendly this time?"

"Wot are ye talkin' about? I'm always friendly," the man insists, but has the sense to look sheepish as Heather clicks across the sidewalk rim of the long jump pit and rejoins their conversation with a shy smile. "I'm sorry about that earlier, Heather. Hiccup here has been ignorin' my calls, an' I needed a word with him."

"Oh, what about?" The girl asks and Gobber shrugs, momentarily at a loss before mischievous eyes light up.

"Baby pictures," he shrugs and Heather laughs that almost too delicate high pitched sound. "All those baby pictures I have of 'im naked in the bath—"

"Gobber!" Hiccup frowns.

"I ne'er got to embarrass ye because yer dad beat me te Astrid," he shrugs. "This is my shot! And I heard Hiccup met ye at his doctors'?" Gobber quickly turns back to leaving Hiccup out of the conversation, being so _nice_ it's absolutely painful. "Horrible way te meet, but I'm glad 'e he did."

Everyone's eyes flick to Heather's foot, then back to the center of their makeshift triangle.

"I'm glad we met too, it's good to have people to talk to," she says, and for the first time in a while, the _club_ feels absolutely inviting.

"And—" Hiccup tentatively starts to respond, watching Gobber for the predictable joking interruption. He barely avoids yelping when too warm, strong hands squeeze his waist from behind and Astrid's chin stabs into his shoulder as she kisses the side of his neck in greeting.

"You guys are early," she greets, still out of breath as she slides to Hiccup's side, grabbing his hand and interjecting herself into the fizzling conversation.

"Not much to do at home, the dogs were ignoring me and enjoying the sun," he explains and Astrid smiles, uncharacteristically clingy as she interlaces their fingers and rests her temple on his shoulder before turning to Heather.

"Heather! I'm so glad you could make it, I've been looking forward to this," she greets, too perky, but Hiccup assumes it has something to do with being overwhelmingly happy that they're not fighting anymore. He agrees with the sentiment entirely and smiles, squeezing her hand. Gobber senses his end in the conversation and ambles away with a wave, looking fakely official as he strides across the field and starts chatting with the sprinting coach.

Heather looks suspiciously green and Hiccup frowns.

"Are you feeling ok?" He asks, and Heather shrugs.

"I'm good, why?"

"You look a little bit like you ate bad sushi for lunch," he suggests and Astrid jostles him with her hip.

"That's not very nice," she frowns at him, trying to hide her own almost sick feelings of accomplishment. "You look fine," Astrid turns back to the other girl, grinning beatifically and leaning back against Hiccup.

Heather's expression sours and Astrid nods nearly imperceptibly.

Ok then, so she wasn't wrong the other night when emotions were high. This girl _likes_ Hiccup.

Of course that makes Astrid angry, defensive, and overwhelmingly, immaturely jealous. But what really threatens to destroy her composure is Heather's methodology. The girl is throwing around words like disabled, and that positively reeks of subconscious warfare.

Astrid was a _bully_ for years. And no matter how hard she's trying to be better, it's something that never quite switches off, seeing people's weaknesses, calculating how to exploit them. She'll be the first to admit that there's a sense of power in controlling people's emotions, but if Heather thinks she'll get anywhere with Hiccup, she's insane.

"Thanks Astrid," the brunette smiles back, eyes hard and piercing. "Long run?"

"Yeah actually, I put in an extra mile, why do you ask?" The conversation is too polite and Hiccup narrows his eyes, trying to zero in on what unspoken sentiments are passing between the two girls.

"Do you need to change before we go?" Heather asks, _so _friendly, and Astrid looks down at the sweaty neck of her shirt.

"Oh yeah, I have other clothes inside," she retorts, almost snippy behind that super-glued grin. "It's a little cold for shorts anyway."

"We should probably get going," Hiccup warns, somehow out of his depth as the two girls grin almost crazed at each other. "The movie is in half an hour."

"Thanks for being on top of everything, babe," Astrid says too sweetly, turning to face Hiccup and planting a solid kiss on his mouth. She tries to prod further, her tongue shoving almost roughly against his lips, but he pushes her away as gently as possible, shooting her a look that says 'not here'.

Astrid ignores the semi-glare, resisting the urge to roll her eyes and turning back to face Heather.

"You two seem to be doing better," the girl congratulates in an impossibly fake voice. How can Hiccup not hear that? Was she only that convincing? Is Heather actually amazingly convincing?

Who Astrid used to be remains a critically missing unknown, and she wishes she could converse with herself from a year ago.

"Well, the people you love the most make you the most furious," Astrid shrugs, nonchalant as she leans back against Hiccup again, pulling a defiant arm around her waist with an elbow pop that she hopes Heather doesn't notice. "Anyway, I should probably go get changed, or we actually will miss the movie," the blonde bows out almost too gracefully, popping briefly onto tiptoe to give Hiccup a kiss on the cheek before bounding up the hill.

Hiccup can't help but watch her go before turning awkwardly to Heather and shrugging.

"See? She was nice," he challenges with a random gesticulation and Heather nods slowly.

"Everyone was nice."

"And this won't be awkward at all," he mumbles under his breath, wiping an anxious hand across his face.

"Huh?" Heather asks, and he shrugs again.

"Nothing," he insists. "Nothing at all."

00000

**So…Hiccup is distracted, Heather is hunting and so is Astrid. **

**I hope that this was a much needed lighter interlude in the middle of this, and I'll also tell you that it starts setting up the second stage of conflict…**

**Please drop me a review to talk about any of the many, many things that happened here! **


	11. Chapter 11

**Ok, so before you guys read this, remember just how happy Chapter 41 of Chasing Thunderstorms was, alright? Keep that in your head. **

**And I noticed that reviews were down for the last chapter, and it's making me wonder if this is just a horrible time of year to be posting. I don't really want to be detracting from people's holidays anyway, so I'm considering pausing after this chapter or the next and then waiting until after New Years to continue. So please tell me what you would all prefer? **

**Thanks. **

00000

That night, Astrid leans casually on the doorframe of Hiccup's bathroom, brushing her teeth and watching Hiccup take off his leg. It's somehow cute, how comfortable he is with her, and she glances at his stump before grinning at him around her toothbrush. She leans back, spitting in the sink and plopping her now damp toothbrush in the cup next to his. Toothless and Spike are curled up in a literal dog-pile on a dirty pair of jeans, and she steps delicately around them, sitting on the edge of the bed beside him.

"So, Heather's _nice_." She starts, doing her best to leave off the fact that the girl came off to her as extremely phony. And she also doesn't mention that Heather was practically drooling over Hiccup all night, _accidently _clanging their _feet_ together under the table and laughing way too hard at his jokes that weren't even funny. "I mean, you guys are…"

Alike? No, not at all.

Is there some sort of polar opposite magnetism between them? Not that she could see.

They're…similar. But not in any way Astrid found to be profound or important…then again, what do Hiccup and she really have. The thought makes her nervous and she bites her lip, smiling at him almost shyly.

"Yeah, I mean, that was fun," he nods, unable to shake off the awkwardness that somehow spawned from sitting around with both girls at once. Astrid didn't move her hand off of him the entire night. From playing with the nape of his neck to rubbing a little too suggestively at his thigh, she made it nearly impossible to pay attention to the conversation, or the movie.

Not to mention that he practically had to fight her off from making out every time the characters on screen went silent for two seconds.

He missed her too, but if she wanted to sit around and watch movies and make out, he would have been fine with that, but she didn't have to invite other people. He hopes Heather didn't end up feeling like too much of a third wheel.

"I'm glad we did it," she nods seriously, secretly mostly glad that she so profoundly claimed her territory.

Maybe not so secretly…but subtlety has never been her talent.

"Me too," he grins as she yawns widely, and wonders just how hard she'd hit him if he admitted how cute she is when she yawns. Her nose scrunches up on her face and her mouth stretches just barely to the left.

"I went too fast today," she laments, leaning down and rubbing at her calf, wincing at a massive knot near the cleft in her muscle. Truthfully, she was hoping to be changed and have her makeup fixed before Heather showed up, and she charged through a last uphill like it was deeply and personally insulting. az

"Do you want me to…?" He gestures to her legs and she cocks her head at him.

"Want you to what?"

"Your calves are sore, do you want me to massage them?" He asks, feeling supremely awkward until her tired face breaks into a grin.

"That's not even a question," she laughs, leaning back and laying her calves across his thighs. He hooks his thumbs under her calf and rubs slowly before frowning and patting her knee.

"Roll over." She knees him in the hip as she flips over and he winces, scooting more fully onto the bed as his hands find the barely stubbled skin of her lower leg, rubbing in slow circles. She groans as her head flops heavily onto the bed, her shoulders melting into boneless-ness at his touch. "Did you run up a mountain or something?" He asks with a laugh, working at the main knot in her left calf with careful thumbs.

"Something," she mumbles, voice blissful.

How are even her calves attractive? He smoothes his hand up to the crook of her knee before switching to her right leg, doing his best to smooth out her gnarled muscles. She shifts to get comfortable and it draws too much of his attention to her thighs disappearing into her too short sleep shorts. He clears his throat, head filled with everything he didn't quite figure out earlier.

He cautiously slides a hand up and rubs his knuckles in a slow circle on her hamstring. The muscle is tight and unreasonably alluring against the pads of his fingers and she groans, her feet flexing against his thigh. She stretches her arms luxuriously over her head, and her tee-shirt rides up her back, exposing those lower back dimples that are like kryptonite.

"Feel good?" He laughs, somewhere between mocking and aroused as she whimpers and flexes against his hands. He tries to ignore the way her shorts are gapping, revealing a narrow strip of dark blue cotton underwear.

"Have I told you that I missed you yet?" she almost blubbers, the lactic acid dissipating from her muscles and leaving blissful exhaustion in its wake.

"Good to know you're only interested in my leg massages."

"Hey, you offered," she laughs, arching her back and rolling her neck side to side. Her narrow shoulders slide smoothly under the cotton of her shirt. He can see the thin black straps of her bra through the white fabric and he coughs, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

He's torn between moving up and coming back down. The fact is, everything is _good_ for the first time in what feels like forever. He's sitting here rubbing pretty much the best legs he's ever seen, and his girlfriend is obviously fully ready to curl up in bed with him and fall asleep. But the glory of yesterday morning's reconciliation weighs on him with the victory and grief of gratitude.

If he were to _touch _her, and get it right the first time, it would probably get _way_ better. But chances are if he messes up, he'll be sleeping alone. He just feels unbearably selfish though, not reciprocating.

Isn't that every relationship's worst nightmare? Wasn't that the problem with Scott?

He was too angry last week to really listen, but that seemed to be a main point in her argument defending her wariness. So far, from what she's let on every lazy Friday night curled on the couch, he's the anti-Scott…and that's an image he wants to maintain.

She doesn't seem to be too keen on going back to being furious with him…and she is the one almost always encouraging him to speak up. His hand slips inward, thumb rubbing soothing circles into her tense inner thigh. She almost whimpers, pushing back against his touch and elevating the temperature in the room at least ten degrees.

"Right there," she urges, relaxing into his bed, which is of course, infinitely more comfortable than her own. His hand switches thighs, fingers shaking slightly as he breathes too hard. He can't tell whether he hopes she knows what she's doing or not. If this is on purpose, it's absolute torture, but there's also the tantalizing possibility that this is going somewhere.

"Anatomically speaking, in combination with everything else," he hedges bravely, his face bright red, "this is probably sore too…" his hand slides warmly onto her butt, unbelievably hot even through her two suddenly thin layers of clothing. She's about to stop him, say something, kiss his face off to keep his hands to himself, but those magic fingers dig into the sore muscle.

"Ok," she sighs, heart rate spiking as she continues. "Don't leave me asymmetrical," she urges and his hand slides across to even her out. She groans, pleased with the outcome and relaxed enough not to notice immediately when his hand slides between her thighs, knuckles resting against the too hot crotch of her far too small shorts. She yelps in spite of herself and jumps away, scrambling to sit cross-legged facing him. "What are you doing?"

"What?" He asks, hiding his hand like he can stop her from seeing the evidence.

"What are you doing?" she repeats the question, wide-eyed and hugging herself tightly around the middle.

"I was—well, yesterday—"

"That was for you," she cuts him off, surprisingly harsh as she irritably tugs the legs of her shorts to their full length.

"I thought you might want—"

"Nope," she cuts him off, thinking that his attempt is _sweet_ in spite of her better judgment. "I've always thought that's a little weird." It's too intimate, too sensitive. Too easy to hurt or control her.

"It's weird for me to touch you?" He asks, frowning confused. His research is, of course, incomplete.

"Little bit," she snaps, hugging her knees and glancing at the dogs on the floor in the semi-awkward silence. Her eyes catch on the problem in his pants and she flushes, still somehow lost in the feeling of warm hands on her ass. That was nicer than it should have been. "I can help with that," she offers, chewing on her lower lip and forcing her face calm.

"Er, you don't have to," he regrets starting anything at this point, and it feels horribly wrong to let her take care of him again without him returning the favor. His second brain doesn't agree with the sentiment and he throbs at the idea of her helping.

"It's not like you can go to bed with that," she scoffs, acting more confident than she feels when she rocks onto her knees, leaning into him. One hand cups the back of his neck and the other finds his knee as she kisses him slowly.

"Astrmmmm—" he tries, but she silences him with her tongue, sliding her hand up his thigh to his ribs. She swings a leg over his lap and sits at his mid-thigh, rolling her hips robotically against his tented pants. It's easier to just make him happy than it is to fight. If she learned anything from three years with Scott, it's that five minutes of confliction is worth hours of peace.

But she's smiling as her hand slips under his shirt, sliding up his flat stomach and feeling at the almost defined muscles of his chest. She likes the way he twitches and warms at her touch, breathing harder against her mouth. She enjoys making him feel good in a completely novel way that must have something to do with how much she really does like him. She diverts her train of thought before 'making love' starts to make sense as a concept.

He pulls away from her lips, kissing across her jaw and down her neck in a way that makes her head droop blissfully sideways without her permission. He latches onto a patch of collarbone left bare by her too big shirt and her hips rock forward spontaneously. She grinds her teeth, frustrated. That's not—He's not supposed to—

Her hand nests in his hair and yanks him away from her neck, before she pecks him on the lips, doing her best to glower at him while knowing that the effect is ruined by her kiss bruised mouth.

"This is supposed to be for you."

"Trust me, I'm having fun," he assures her with a grin as a confident hand cups her waist and threatens to melt her like room temperature butter.

"Hiccup, seriously, just let me," she urges him, blindly reaching down and pulling his pants over their tent-pole. She too deftly unbuttons his boxer fly and frees him into the cooler bedroom air, wrapping her fist around him and pumping slowly. It's already almost familiar, somehow exactly how she expects as she explores, smoothing her thumb around his mushroom head and making him squirm. "That's better, right?" His eyes flicker shut and she leans in, kissing him to distract herself.

Half of her really wants to look down. Obviously she knows essentially what she'd see. Circumcised, probably darker than the rest of him, with a pink tip.

But she's terrified of a similarity, scared that she'll see shadows of someone else, like she does every time she looks in the mirror and sees _his_ ice blue eyes glaring back at her.

After a moment, Hiccup is too distracted to kiss her, lips sliding clumsily against her as his hands clutch at her back. She manages to grin as she brings her friction warm palm to her mouth, spitting in her palm and replacing her grip, pumping faster with the lubrication. He hisses between his teeth and she's momentarily overjoyed as she grips him tighter. He lets go too quickly after that and she pulls her hand back as his short fingernails scratch at her shirt.

It has not been a good week for Hiccup's pants.

She slithers off of his lap, adjusting her shorts and rubbing her knees together in a feeble attempt to dissipate the warm ache between her legs. It makes her feel things she shouldn't and she sneaks a glance at Hiccup's still heaving shoulders before determinedly facing a neutral wall.

She's glad the dogs slept through that.

"Do you mind tossing me some boxers?" He asks, voice happily exhausted as he slides shyly out of his pants, wondering if she's looking. It seems stupid that anything could still be nerve wracking after that.

God, when she spit on her hand?

It's an entire life of staring at her condensed into a split second of the hottest thing he's ever seen. He doesn't think he'll ever get the image of the split-second long devilish grin that followed out of his head. Then again, if she wanted to replace it with some other wonderful idea, he won't fight her.

She tosses him some underwear, aim impeccable blind and over her shoulder. He almost drops them with a still shaky hand. His legs don't quite cooperate, and it takes an awkward moment to cover himself.

He wishes she'd look, and then it might stop feeling like he's doing something wrong.

"Are you clothed yet?" She asks after a minute, tapping her foot and falling short of her intended joking tone.

"Yeah," he frowns, laying down closest to the wall and staring at her semi-patiently.

"Good," she's grinning when she whirls around and climbs into bed with him. She backs her butt against him and exaggeratedly wiggles to get comfortable, nearly bouncing her hips on the bed before tightly crossing her legs. The seam of her shorts presses against her a little too sweetly and she adjusts herself as secretly as she can, squinting her eyes shut and willing herself to calm down.

Sure, Hiccup came. And yeah, he shuts his eyes super adorably and she has the urge to bite every strong muscle that appeared on his neck in that singular tense moment.

But that's inappropriate, and dumb, and setting her up for disappointment. Because a guy is a guy, and she doesn't like sex. That's been ruined for her.

"Are you sure you don't want me to umm," he tries to think of a way to offer, tries to think of anything but how impossibly warm she is, and how hard she's breathing against him.

"Absolutely sure," she insists, chewing determined on the inside of her cheek. It's certainly never been this bad. She remembers laying there after Scott was done, feeling completely unsatisfied and somehow strangely wanting, but it was nothing like this hellish fire in her loins.

"You're kind of heaving…" He runs an attempt at a soothing hand down her shoulders and she twitches his hand away.

"It's hot in here."

"You pulled the covers up to your chin."

"I _like_ being hot," she snips, curling her knees to her chest and hugging them.

"Astrid—"

"I'm fine," she insists, faking a yawn. "I'm tired. Let's just go to sleep."

"Ok," he sighs, closing his eyes and futilely trying to fall asleep. It's five minutes before she relaxes, unfurling against him and grabbing his arm, wrapping it around her waist.

00000

It pains him to think it, but he's starting to get sick of the constant hand jobs. Wednesday, there were three, one very awkwardly in the car on the way to the store that caused him to use up his entire glove box napkin stash. Every time, Astrid is smiling at him so wickedly, and her hand is a smooth blur that he just can't ignore.

Every time he tries to reciprocate, and she stand there crossing her legs and staring at him with a visible fire locked behind her eyes. He can feel it from three feet away, the sauna between her legs as she shoves him away again and again for some reason he doesn't understand.

Thursday night after school, she walks into his room around eight, obviously done with her essay for the time being.

"How goes English?" He asks, shoving his homework aside as she comes to sit on the bed next to him.

"Finished. It's calculus I'm bashing my head against," she tells him grumpily, scooting closer and almost roughly pressing her lips to his. He responds enthusiastically, rubbing his hand over the back of her neck as she leans against him.

Her hand lands on the zipper of his pants and he pulls back, delicately plucking her hand off and looking at her as sternly as he can manage while all of his blood flees for the basement.

"Why don't you bring it in here? I can help," he offers and she inches her other hand towards the danger zone.

"I can do it," she insists emphatically. "But I just wanted a break," she twists his wrist and yanks her hand out of his softened grip, palming at the bulge in his pants. "And I figured you might want a break too."

"Astrid, ow," he rubs at his wrist and shoots her a glare, trying to ignore the sensations below his belt. "And I'm getting a little sick of how one-sided this is," he tells her, brave and reckless from the sensations rushing through his veins.

"You're getting sick of me _pleasuring_ you," she nearly purrs, feeling like an actress as she leans against him and nips seductively at his ear. It's a fun part to play, and she's legitimately enjoying driving him crazy in a way that she never thought was possible.

She thought it would be scary, and horrible forever…but at some point, that scrunched up face became a trophy, and she began enjoying the pursuit.

"Look, I love you," he tells her, scooting away six inches and trying to give himself a smidgen of breathing room. "But this isn't fair if I don't get to touch you too."

She jerks back, suddenly affronted.

"Is that what you want?" She asks, almost afraid to continue. "You're just in this to get me naked?"

The sudden terror spurring the non sequitur slaps her across the face and she sits up too straight.

"What? That's not what I said at all!" He defends, feeling cornered as his hands flail wildly with the need to explain himself.

"You've been pretty concerned about touching me every freaking chance you can see," she gripes, crossing her legs into an organic chastity belt.

"I want to make you feel good," he says earnestly and her entire body twitches at the thought, betraying her once again.

"I don't want to feel good."

"It seems like you still don't want _me_," it drops like a nuke. If she wanted him, she'd look at him. She'd let him touch her, she'd let this expand beyond _servicing_.

Nothing was ever really fixed. Pretending could only get him so far.

"I want you." It sounds unconvincing even to her.

What does that mean, anyway? Does it mean that she's ok with him touching her _over_ her clothes? That she likes to cuddle him and spend long mornings under the covers making out? Does it have something to do with the distracting warmth in the pit of her stomach?

That's a feeling she's still getting used to, the overwhelming heat that surges to her head when he changes or stretches or _kisses_ her. She'd felt flickers of it years ago, with Scott, but after…things went downhill, it'd had faded and been forgotten. But this…the lava welling up in her like toxic sludge while she sits on the bed, is a tsunami compared to the low tide she'd felt before. And the more that they touch, the more that they _escalate_…

Everything is falling out of control.

She glimpses at him again, scooting marginally closer. His bent knee brushes against the side of her thigh and she looks over, biting her lip.

"Do you know how far out of my league I am here? I don't know what I'm doing, and you're spending all this time driving me _crazy_, and I have no idea how to…proceed." He asks, scooting backwards so that his knee isn't touching her anymore. He can still feel the heat radiating off of her thigh and he flushes, remembering how wonderfully firm and smooth those thighs are.

The self-consciousness suspended for the last few days rushes back full force and he shrinks away from her.

"Out of your league?" Of course she knows what he's talking about.

"Yeah, Astrid. Out of my league. I mean look at you, and look at…eh," he gestures to himself and Astrid frowns, suddenly furious. "And I have no experience—"

"What about you? You're fine."

"Oh, I'm fine? That inspires confidence," Hiccup snaps, scooting back towards the pillows. Astrid rolls her eyes, swallowing her ire and forcing herself honest. The experience isn't worth mentioning, and it's a knife to the heart.

"You're attractive."

"Right, you're immediate bolstering is really convincing," he snips and she whirls, grabbing his jaw and slamming her lips onto his, kissing him so harshly it's painful. He groans as the back of his head smacks against the hardwood of his bedframe, neck bending awkwardly.

"I said you were hot the other night, and I meant it," she snaps before empathy comes rushing back "Is your head ok?" She mumbles against his lips, hand cupping the back of his neck as she kisses him again, shoving her tongue in his mouth and leaning over him, straddling his waist.

"Urf—it's…" he trails off, losing himself in her determined lips despite himself. He'd missed this, missed her toned body pressing against him while she kisses him. Even over the last few days, she's seemed uncharacteristically distant, and he only notices it now that she's so unbearably close. His hands find her sides, smoothing over her too thick sweatshirt and curling against the steel of her lower back.

That heat is building again, mysterious and cloying as her hands find his hair, twisting in the short unbelievably soft strands.

She's not going to get away with avoiding it anymore. She can see that, he's done being satisfied with her hand and he's looking for something more…_personal_.

Well, she might as well get it over with then. It's not like fucking is actually a big deal. It's honestly harder to avoid at this point than it is to actually do. She'll just fuck him, and maybe she can get him to settle with once a week or something.

Maybe if she's lucky, it might even feel decent. Maybe the way she likes him will make it less than a violation, and more than anything she ever had with Scott.

She's suddenly curious as she sits down against his hip, his unbelievably heady warmth soaking through her jeans, and she's suddenly far too _hot_. She sits back, tugging her sweatshirt over her head and throwing it across the room.

Hiccup's hands hover off of her sides as he flushes, suddenly sheepish as everything they've worked for over the past few months shows how woefully missing it is. Their original fight hangs in the air, cloying and dangerous, and Astrid bucks back against the residual anger. She scowls, reaching down and grabbing his hands, pressing them against her waist over her tee-shirt, they curl in the soft material, her skin impossibly present through the thin layer of cotton.

Of course she has to be in control, always in control.

Even though every moment of holding him down reminds her of hundreds of days with Scott. Hundreds of mistakes.

"This is fine," she tells herself earnestly, leaning down and kissing him again, slower and smoother, lips sliding together as his fingers lightly grip her sides.

She shimmies down on top of him, chests pressing together as his hands cautiously ghost over her upper back, flirting with the sensitive skin under her arms as he holds her tight to his chest with clamping, possessive fingers. It's nerve-wracking to be trapped against him, thrilling and terrifying all at once and she kisses him harder, her heart beating dangerously fast in her chest. Her fingers find the strip of exposed skin on his stomach and stroke it pensively, sending chills up his spine as her lips slow down.

There. Hipbones, this is _Hiccup_.

She comforts herself, willing herself calm before pulling back from his lips with an exhilarated grin.

"I just want to try again," she mutters, looking up at his face. "Just one more time." She mumbles and something about her tone sets Hiccup remembering. He focuses on the root of their original fight, and no matter how wonderful it is to have her pressed against him, he can't help but feel woefully unresolved.

"I don't—Urgh, you still haven't told me what went wrong last time," he stalls, mental fortitude cracking under the pressure of her pleading blue eyes. Not to mention to absolutely entrancing view down the front of her shirt that he has from this angle. She shifts and he's suddenly hyperaware of the line of the cup of her bra, nearly overflowing with soft, warm—

"I'll tell you if we try again," she promises, lying. She'll act better this time, he won't notice, and they can go back to normal. "And it doesn't seem like it's stopping you from getting interested…" She escalates the playing field, awkwardly pressing her hips against the bulge in his pants that he'd been hoping she'd forgotten about.

The warmth floods her senses as he gasps, and her breath catches in her throat. There's something about being on top of _that_, and her entire body twitches. She scowls, coughing quietly as her thigh muscles twitch without her consent. Hiccup flushes, his skin heating up and making Astrid squirm at the warmth. She focuses on a mahogany freckle almost hidden in the shadowy stubble of his jawline.

She wants to _kiss_ it.

The bizarre thought catches her unaware and she cautiously leans down, nipping at the side of his neck and experimentally kissing up his jaw, sucking his earlobe into her mouth.

Somehow kissing him while she uses her hand, kissing him while they make out, kissing him because she feels like it and he's fully clothed all make sense.

Kissing him halfway to fucking is bizarre.

She always hated it when Scott kissed her neck. He made her feel like food, the sticky wet drool tickling unpleasantly. Hiccup's fascination with the same action already changed her mind on the topic, his habit of peppering quick tender pecks around her shoulders absolutely maddening.

Hiccup seems to like the returned attention, squirming under her as he gets impossibly _warmer_. More solid. More _present_.

Impossibly present, consuming her rational thoughts like a black hole.

"What? You're expecting _apathy_ while you do that?" It's not healthy to be _this_ hard, he's sure of it.

"Do what?" She grins, confidence trickling back into her, inflating her ego. This couldn't be more _different_ than her last erm…experience. "This?" She leans back down, biting the base of his neck softly and pointedly sucking a hickey. He squirms, gripping her hips.

She abruptly sits upright, staring irked at being _held_ down. It reeks of being defenseless and his hands feel like shackles. She squirms and he loosens his grip, grumbling as she brushes against _it_.

She wonders what _he_ looks like, and a flood of horribly vapid concerns rush through her mind. The question of its size presents itself and she sits purposefully, _feeling_ carefully and wondering if she'll be able to stop herself from comparing. She wonders whether he's closer to Scott or the other, horrible end of the spectrum and cringes.

She should have looked. She had plenty of chances to look before now. She should know from how he feels in her hands, but that's seemed almost personal and wonderfully disconnected from everything his member represents.

Her hand sneaks down without her permission and cups the bulge extending down the left leg of his jeans. He jumps, and it's suddenly obvious just how determined she is this time.

"And that."

"What?" Her hand freezes, distracted but shyly refusing to retreat.

"You were wondering why—"

"Oh, yeah. About this," she squeezes lightly and he coughs, closing nervous eyes. He doesn't know whether he wants her to stop or not anymore, but he knows that they have something important to talk about. "Let's do it. Come on."

"A little bit of pressure?" he accuses lightly, forcing his voice to be joking, and Astrid narrows her eyes.

"I want you." She lies, hoping for it to morph into the truth.

She wants to want him.

She's coming around to the idea that her body wants his.

And god is that true, the way she wants to _paw_ at his chest, and the way she's positively throbbing. His eyes have never been so green staring up at her.

His leg squeaks as she settles flush against him and he looks away, embarrassed but shockingly steadfast.

"You sound like you're trying to convince yourself," he mutters and she flings her shirt over her head, rash and sudden. "Urk," he grunts, hands thumping uselessly to the bed as she reaches around, unclasping her bra and dropping it to the floor.

Hiccup's mind goes mostly blank as he stares, painfully erect against the zipper of his jeans.

"Come on," she urges, flushing red as she strokes up Hiccup's stomach under his shirt, tugging it over his face and laughing lightly as he struggles, tugging it over his head.

There.

He's so distinctly _Hiccup_, with his barely showing ribs and tight, flat muscles crisscrossing his skinny frame. She leans down, kissing him as an idle hand trails up his side. His tentative fingers rise off of the bed, full of boyish hopes and dreams as they stroke the underside of her breast. She flinches and twitches almost violently, the sensation too strong.

Almost familiar, but too intense.

Far too intense.

He so gently cups her and she flinches, eyes suddenly itchy.

Would he still _want_ to touch her if he _knew_ who the last person to _try_ was?

Try. Succeed.

_Muscle_ through her defenses.

"Hey, what are you doing?" She mumbles, reaching down and grabbing his wrist, pulling it off of her.

"Erm…I was _investigating_," he defends himself gently, looking at her strangely.

"Well…I don't like that."

"Oh," he answers, disappointment pouring through his voice like a sieve. She sits back on him, crossing her arms across her chest, hiding behind a veil of defense.

"Let's just do it, seriously." She says, snippy as she blinks too hard. "I mean, let's just fuck, it's not a big deal."

She can see the finish line, and the urge to sprint is overwhelming. It's a fifty-fifty whether she's going to sprint toward or away from the boy underneath her. He looks up at her awkwardly, too cold shirtless without her lying on top of him.

He can remember how she felt in his hand, and _he_ throbs.

"You don't erm…want to warm up?" He asks slowly and she rolls her eyes at him, flopping off of him onto the bed and brusquely pulling off her jeans and underwear in one fell swoop. "Ok…umm, wow," he mutters quietly, star struck as a very naked Astrid Hofferson rolls onto her knees, crossing her arms as she glares at him.

"Come on," she urges, reaching down and tentatively touching his belt. She unbuckles it with suddenly shaking fingers and slips her hand underneath his waistband, twitching back when she brushes up against hot, hard—She's naked and touching him and it's absolutely insane. "Get naked."

"Can't I—" he sighs, making near caustic eye contact. "You're beautiful."

The words are too tender and her itchy eyes _leak_, the hot tears oozing down her cheeks without fanfare.

"Naked. Now." She orders, the breath catching in her throat in some horrible little sob as she avoids his gaze, unbuttoning his pants and tugging down the zipper, cautiously avoiding touching _him_.

He doesn't make a move and she grabs the sides of his waistbands, tugging them down anything but gently, frustrated as she yanks over the buckle of his prosthetic. She reaches down to unbuckle his leg and he jerks it back.

"No—"

"Why not?" She mutters, alarming tears dripping onto his thigh. She stares at his good knee, because it's not intimidating like the rest of him.

"Maybe we shouldn't do this right now," he wipes a frustrated hand over his face. He should be embarrassed about being naked, but given the fact she hasn't _looked_ at him, it's hard. Even he can't manage to feel inferior before she's _noticed_ him.

She's taking his pants off, so obviously she _wants _to notice him.

So that's good.

She sobs, the sound quiet and frustrated and he sits up, fastidiously staring at her face to avoid looking down. Pleasurably, delightfully down.

Throb.

He blinks hard, trying to clear his mind of at least some of those less than helpful thoughts as he reaches out, wiping a tear away from her cheek with tender fingers. She growls, and shrinks back, staring at his leg.

"So leg on, then?"

"Astrid, I'm not going to do this, you're obviously upset—"

"I love you," she snarls, flopping angrily back against the pillow and crossing her arms. The action only makes him remember what's underneath and trace the long lean line of her side with too eager eyes, hating his insufferable instincts.

"I love you too, which is why I'm not going to do this," he tries to sound soothing, but his voice cracks, horribly uneven.

Throb. 

"So you don't want me?" She accuses, kneeing him in the hip and flinching along with him.

"Astrid, this isn't about _that_—"

"Fine, you don't want me," she snaps, snarling as she starts to curl up, facing away.

"Of course I want you. Look at me," he almost shouts and she whips her head around, glaring at him and catching sight of _him_ out of the corner of her eye. She freezes, biting her lip as the abandoned warmness returns three fold, and the tears refresh their miserable onslaught, pouring out of her eyes and down her cheeks.

"Come on, then," she urges brusquely, rolling back and grabbing his shoulders, tugging him over her. She immediately feels trapped, and bites her lip, staring too deep into worried green eyes. Her tears surge out again as she feels the cold metal of his foot against the inside of her calf and she freezes, defiantly jutting her jaw at him.

"Astrid…" he calmly mutters, wiping the tears away from her cheeks.

"Just do it, we just need to do it, then it'll be fine," she urges him, and his expression is remarkably disbelieving. However, his starved eighteen year old body has another opinion entirely, hips bucking forward as the tip of him brushes against the soft skin of her inner thigh. She almost hyperventilates at the feeling, flood of tears rushing down her cheeks.

"Astrid—"

"We just need to do it once, and then I'll talk, ok?" She lies, reaching down and grabbing him, scooting abruptly and shoving him halfway into her. The panic closes around her neck like a vice as he hisses between his teeth, groaning low in his throat at the too hot tightness gripping him. He's so close, practically part of her, enveloped in her very core, probing the secrets like a metal detector. She's…she's…"I—I—I can't do this," she abruptly announces, shoving him off with his shoulders, flinging herself off of the bed.

She's never been so scared in her life.

He gasps in pain. Did she _bend_ him? He's never heard of anything like that happening before, but the searing pain rushing through his pelvic region as he abruptly goes soft and blue couldn't be anything else.

It must have bent. Jesus, it fucking bent.

Is it broken?

He breathes too hard, looking down and being overwhelmingly relieved to see it in one shrunken retreating piece. He reaches down, cupping himself carefully as he remembers Astrid's frantic absence, whirling to look around the room, pained and terrified.

She's going to hit him.

Those were very likely the most pleasant three seconds of his entire life.

She's standing beside the bed, hurriedly tugging a shirt over her head, her jeans already buckled into place. Her hands are shaking violently as she tugs the hem of the shirt securely over her hips.

His shirt, he notices, but it doesn't look like she has, in her crazed flurry to _cover_.

"…should go, I should go, I should go," she repeats frantically, searching for the shoes that she didn't wear into his room, running her hands through her messed up hair in a futile attempts to tame it.

"Astrid—"

"I know I said I'd talk, but—but—" She gives up on the shoes, tightening her belt another notch, cinching it around her hips to the point of pain. "I just—I don't think _this_ is going to work." She proposes quietly, surprised at how the words split her heart like a cleaver.

This is the worst _possible_ moment he's ever been naked, and he retrieves his boxers, tugging them over his foot with difficulty and sitting on the edge of the bed.

"You don't think what is—"

"It's like—It's like jamming a square peg into a round hole, Hiccup." She lies as her entire body starts shaking like a leaf, tears pouring down her face in earnest now. She heaves, sobbing quietly as her frame _quakes_. He habitually reaches for her, hands timid and slow, and she lurches backwards, shoulders thumping loudly against the wall.

"Astrid—"

"No! I don't want to talk about this! It's just not going to work!" She shouts, hugging herself and leaning back against the wall as her chest cramps.

It feels like something is breaking, finally snapping after years and years of duress. She can't breathe and her chest heaves, rickety and insubstantial as Hiccup stares from the other side of the room. The embarrassment and crushing sadness halt for a moment as he takes in the bizarre sight of Astrid's face crumpling in on itself.

Sure, he's seen her cry, seen her sob, and he's sure he's among the minority to have seen her break down. He's seen her at her lowest, rushing to his house in the middle of the night with her knee torn up and bleeding down her leg.

He's never seen her like this.

She heaves dramatically, pounding a tight fist against the wall with a shower of sheet rock dust. The air in the room is too thin as her mind seems to spin out, incongruous images rushing in front of her eyes like a horrible film, contrasting wonderful and horrible.

Scott asking her out freshman year. Scott pathetic when she left him.

Hiccup staring at his freshly broken arm. Hiccup blushing on a pseudo-date. Hiccup in the hospital. Hiccup running for the first time on his new leg and _smiling_.

Her father picking her up from third grade. Her father at a middle school soccer game. Her father's face when her mom died. Her father hovering over her, like a personal prison.

"Astrid, I—"

"It is not going to work," she spits through gritted teeth, final and nauseating as she pushes herself to unsteady feet.

"Why? Why isn't it going to work?" He asks, pulling his pants over his feet and standing, stepping towards her. He remembers the first time he approached Toothless, and how whimpering and skinny he was.

"I'm all…I'm not—I'm not _good_—" She snarls at him, and the door, and a million ghosts he can't see. "It's not going to work."

He'd be an idiot to not _suspect_ stuff. And Hiccup Haddock is many things, but he's never been stupid.

Anyone whose father—Could a man like that have broken more _limits_ than Astrid has admitted?

The thought springs toxically from the back of his mind and he grimaces, hand still hovering towards her like she's about to bite him and run away. She still might. He shouldn't have acted…or well, he never really acted, but he should have stopped her from acting. He should have not moved until she talked, and worked through it, and figured out once and for all that he'd never hurt her.

Is it too late to _talk_? Is it too late to retract and retrace?

Most likely.

"Is it something that happened _before_?" He asks too quietly, hating himself for not _screaming_ no.

"Don't even—What are you insinuating?" She spits, crossing her arms impossibly tighter around herself as she steps forward. He's too close then and she skitters back towards the door, fumbling the knob with sweaty, slippery fingers. "S-square peg. Round hole. I need a break. We just need to take a break from…this. Just until I—we figure this out." She reiterates, voice trembling as she opens the door and slips out into the hallway with an ungainly sob.

00000

**I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Feel free to completely tear into what kind of horrible person I am in reviews. I deserve it. **

**I did that. **


	12. Chapter 12

**As a response to anon:**

**I write because I can't help it. I write because this plot was stuck in my head driving me crazy until I put it to paper. And I'll be honest, when I was writing Chasing Thunderstorms, I was writing in real time and I was probably a bit review spoiled, and I didn't respond to enough of them. I'm sorry for that, and that's something that I'm trying to amend with this story, by responding to all reviews with accounts. The only reason I'm not responding to anonymous reviews for the most part is that they are hellish to format. **

**I never meant to make anyone feel like I was trying to punish for lack of reviews. They are my only way of communicating with you guys, and they're the only way that I can tell how I'm doing. If I didn't want feedback, I wouldn't post, and I don't think that makes me greedy or out of line in any way. That being said, I am immensely thankful for every review I get…and I also happen to be eternally self-conscious about everything I post, and when they slow down, I blame myself. I'm working on that confidence, and as a start, I will do my best to stop asking for reviews when they slow. **

**I'll let my writing speak for itself, which I believe it will. **

**And I'm still going to thank everyone for last chapter's reviews! **

00000

Astrid tugs another blanket into her floor nest beside Ruff's bed, sulking onto the pile of throw pillows with an 'oof.'

"Are you going to hoard all the freaking blankets?" Ruff snaps, wrapping what she has left tightly around herself with a scowl.

"Yes," Astrid spits, curling into an impossibly tight ball and glowering at an ancient, dusty toy light saber under Ruff's bed.

"Jesus, what crawled up your butt and died?" Astrid can't help the burst of irrational, terrified tears that pool in her eyes and burst out with a single, furious sob. Ruff freezes, "Are you ok?"

"Fine, "Astrid blubbers menacingly, retreating under a quilt.

God, his _face._

After she'd left, shamefully running away from something, she'd remembered all the things that made the afternoon truly tragic. The way he looked at her. The happy way that he sighed when they almost…

His face when she left. The way that he groaned when she kissed him on Monday, after too far and too long mad.

"You don't sound fine."

"Check your ears," Astrid mumbles, sniffing as quietly as she can. "I think they're full of bullshit." Ruff snorts and Astrid barks a miserable laugh.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Astrid thinks on that particular question while she gets her tears under control, blotting her face with a corner of the quilt. Talking about it is the last thing she wants to do. Talking about it makes it so real it could kill her.

Why hadn't she _said_ anything? Why didn't she even stop to tell him it wasn't his fault?

She even put on the wrong shirt, and laying here wrapped in Hiccup smelling soft cotton, she's never felt more horrible.

"Hiccup and I tried again," Astrid blurts through a mostly dry face.

"So _what_? Tiny dick?" Ruff asks callously and Astrid nearly growls at her too casual tone.

"No."

"Was he horrible?" Ruff asks, sounding shocked. She'd been counting on that kid to have potential.

"No—I mean—he was all _touchy_," Astrid complains, embarrassed.

"That's kind of the point," her friend responds with a quiet laugh and Astrid hugs her arms around her ribs.

"Mph," Astrid grunts, noncommittally.

"Well, how'd you leave it?" Ruff asks, rolling over to the face of the blank, dark air over Astrid's head.

"Square peg in a round hole," she mumbles, heart too heavy in her chest.

"Cliché, Hofferson," Ruff accuses, almost dodging the pillow that flies her direction through the dark.

"Shut up," Astrid snaps in response, slapping her hand on the floor in stifling frustration.

"It's not true, ya know," her friend says after a quiet moment, flopping onto her back and spread eagling across the twin bed. "You two are…well, you're like me and Fish."

"Meaning?"

"All that yin and yang Zen shit," Ruff explains, callously, "like if you're black and he's white, you two make gray, and that's a good thing. I don't know. Ask an Asian or something."

"Yeah, I guess so," Astrid admits grudgingly, still pouting as she tries to forget every time they felt like impossible puzzle pieces, but only reminding herself. "It's just…sometimes we don't…do you ever wonder that you guys are just too _different_? Like you just don't _fit_?" She stutters out, the mostly dark room inspiring confidence.

She never thought they didn't fit until he realized someone like him, like him and Heather, might fit him better than she could.

"So not tiny dick?" Ruff clarifies and Astrid groans.

"Not like _that_, like…do you guys want the same things…and I mean, with graduation and all…" And female friends who have so much in common with Hiccup that she wants to puke.

"I don't worry about it, honestly," Ruff shrugs, bedframe creaking under the shift in her weight. "I mean…we're together until it stops being better than being apart." Astrid is wholly and completely sure that being with Hiccup is better than being without Hiccup and her heart pangs, like someone twice her size is sitting on her chest. "How far did this failed attempt get, anyway?"

"Why do you want to know?" Astrid snaps. 

"Because I want to put it in my diary," Ruff mocks less than gently and the distraught girl beside her glowers at the ceiling. "Because I'm trying to help, idiot."

"It was…docking," Astrid mumbles, wiping hair off of her surely cherry red face.

"What?—Jesus, that's awfully close to sex for stuff to fall apart."

"I was docking it."

"So you were on top? Typical—"

"No!" Astrid cuts her friend off, fists pounding against a pillow as she longs for a punching bag. "I don't want to talk about this."

"Well, I don't want to be up at one in the morning, but I can tell you're not going to sleep."

"So you're going to torture me?" Astrid asks and Ruff nods.

"Pretty much, anyway, he was on top but you were docking it?" It sounds horrible to hear it said like that and Astrid wonders if she should have let him _try_, at least.

She shouldn't have been crying. She shouldn't have been _her_.

Anyone else would have been better, more suitable for Hiccup's first time.

It's ok, freaking Heather is probably going to get that honor now, if nothing gets better.

Nothing ever gets better.

God, that was his first time, wasn't it? He's never going to get naked again, she's ruined his entire life. She's horrible. She's—

"I was…crying, and I shoved his shoulders off and _he _popped out, and it…_bent…_" The words spill forth from her mouth, suddenly and briefly out of control before she stops herself. Ruff hisses, grabbing her sympathetic, imaginary dick.

"That's cold."

"It wasn't on purpose!"

"And you were crying? Twice in one day? Am I in bizarre-world?" She asks and Astrid _growls_.

"Shut up!"

"How did you even—"

"I'm done with this conversation!" Astrid nearly roars, and Tuff groans from downstairs as the room falls into an awkward silence.

She should have been overcome with _wanting_ him. She should have been lost to it, should have been completely involved and wanton.

She's never known anyone like him and she _loves_ him. She does. Really.

Maybe she's broken, or wired wrong or—

"Maybe I'm a lesbian."

"What? You're not a lesbian." Ruff nearly squawks and Astrid flings an overdramatic arm over her eyes.

"Oh god, that…that explains everything!" She remarks, miserably ecstatic, grasping at straws.

"No, it doesn't. You're not—with the way I've seen you try and suck Hiccup's face off, you're definitely not a lesbian."

"But what if…I mean, I love Hiccup, but what if—"

"You're not a lesbian," Ruff insists, "and suddenly deciding that you like vagina doesn't get you out of acting kind of crazy—"

"Kind of crazy?" Astrid asks, offended.

"Ok, bat-shit crazy," Ruff amends, "when all your boyfriend did was touch you after you climbed on top of him."

"I didn't tell you that I climbed on top of him," Astrid frowns and her friend rolls her eyes.

"It's not hard to guess."

"But…but what if I don't _want_ him for a reason that's not my fault?" The truth of that question smacks her chest like a hammer as her dad flashes through her mind. She shoves the image out of the way and forges stubbornly—stupidly—forward.

"What? Because after 3 years of banging Scott, you suddenly realized you're into chicks?" Ruff laughs to herself, "Then again, Hiccup is a step towards the androgynous end of the spectrum…"

"Don't call him _androgynous_!"

"See, that wouldn't piss you off if you were a lesbian."

"I don't know what else to think, Ruff." Her dad, her dad, her dad. "I didn't want the…the _it_, even when it was halfway in there. Sounds pretty lesbo to me."

"Can you say dick? Or are you _four_?"

"Fine, I didn't want his dick." She chokes out, the word sounding unbearably _wrong_.

Hiccup doesn't have a _dick_, or does he?

Does she want him to?

Obviously he has all the equipment, as she _experienced_ this week, but the mythical orbited instrument. The subject of rap songs, the tool for _violation_ and _power_, the—

"Maybe you just didn't want _his_ dick," Ruff suggests and Astrid frowns. "Was it like…weird or something?"

"No, I mean…it seemed pretty goddamn normal to me," the girl grumbles from the floor. As much as she tried to avoid the…instrument, focusing on it for this long has left her uncomfortably warm and too heavy, like she's had a few too many beers.

"I swear there's something that you're not telling me," Ruff admits, too quietly. She's sure there's something bad going on. Astrid's been so…happy with Hiccup, and now she's got an issue she's never had before. It's more suspicious than the time Tuff tried to hide a pet seagull in his room, and the floor was covered in bird shit.

That's what Astrid's crying is, emotional bird shit.

"What? Are you my freaking conscience or something?"

"Just you went from banging Scott daily to…this," she gestures broadly from the bed and Astrid frowns.

"Maybe I realized I like girls."

Sometimes, any façade, no matter how ridiculous, is better than the brush of reality against a bare face.

"Oh, great woman-lover, what do you like so much about girls, anyway?"

"I don't know," Astrid mumbles defiantly, rubbing her eyes. "Boobs are good. And I mean, I think you're pretty."

"You're full of shit," Ruff derides.

"Am not!"

"Oh come on, 'you're hot Ruff'," the girl mocks in a simpering voice and Astrid kneels, reaching over the bed and punching her friend in the thigh. "Ow, carpet-muncher."

"Hey!" Astrid barks.

"What? Don't like me—Urf!" Ruff starts before Astrid launches herself onto the bed, smothering her friend with a pillow. Ruff reacts violently, shoving Astrid onto the bed and conquering her with a knee to the stomach. They wrestle, punching each other ruthlessly in the face as they tumble to the foot of the bed. Ruff finally gains the upper hand, mashing a pillow over Astrid's face and trapping wildly thrashing fists under her knees.

It's too silent.

Ruff pulls the pillow back, looming above her friend with a glower. Astrid crosses her arms, glaring as she angrily squirms to her seat, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed.

"Sore loser," Ruff drawls with a grin and Astrid sticks her tongue out petulantly.

"Not my fault you've got _man_ arms," she spits.

"What? Not sexy to your lesbo sensibilities?" Ruff teases and Astrid pushes her hair off of her face.

"Should we try it?" She asks, too quiet and Ruff wrinkles her nose.

"Try what?"

"I don't know, like kiss…or whatever." It doesn't seem _hot_, but neither does kissing Hiccup, most of the time.

Then again, imagining Ruff pushing her up against the wall and plundering her mouth is sort of disturbing, but replace her with Hiccup and the warmth in her stomach smolders excitedly.

Her front is apparently weak, and she considers giving up until Ruff's indignant voice breaks through her Hiccup glazed hearing.

"You're _rebounding_ with _me_!" Ruff realizes with a jolt, leaning away from her friend, a horrified expression glued on her face.

"Hiccup and I aren't broken up!" Astrid insists, shying away from the entire _rebound_ concept.

"You wouldn't care about that if you were a real lesbian!" Ruff exclaims and Astrid shrugs.

"Oh come on, is trying going to kill you?"

"It's so cliché, at least like a _third_ of girl's must try some shit like that," she informs Astrid and the shorter girl gasps mockingly.

"Ruff Thorston using fractions? You've been spending too much time with Fish. You're so boring now you couldn't even handle a hot lesbian make out if—"

Ruff cuts off her insults with angry lips and Astrid freezes, thinking too hard.

It's…flat, like warm soda, and Astrid shifts awkwardly, pressing her mouth harder to her friend's, waiting for the click. It reminds her somehow of being 13 and making out with her elbow, trying to figure out what exactly she should do with her tongue.

They pull back simultaneously after a few awkward seconds and grimace, wiping their mouths on the backs of their hands. Astrid slips off of the side of the bed, kneeling in her nest with her elbows resting cautiously on the edge of the mattress.

"Hmm. So I might not be as straight as I thought," Ruff breaks the tension and Astrid laughs, raising her eyebrows and leaning away from her friend. "How about you?"

"I'm definitely straight." she wipes her mouth again for good measure, lamenting her no longer valid reasoning. "Super straight." She genuinely pouts, and the desperate part of her considers tongue kissing her still confused friend.

She quells the urge…because that would be cheating, wouldn't it? The first kiss, well that was exploration. A second would be cheating, even if it's with Ruff.

She imagines a happier place, telling Hiccup about the time she almost cheated on him with Ruff.

"Good for you," the girl muses, "I mean, I told you so."

"Shut up," Astrid whirls, laying back down and tugging her blankets up around her ears.

"Hey Astrid?" Ruff asks, uncharacteristically quiet.

"Yeah?"

"Why didn't you move back home when Hiccup got better?" She asks, tentatively curious.

"What do you mean better? He's not a starfish, it's not going to grow back," Astrid snaps and Ruff shifts, the bed creaking.

"When he could like walk and do stairs and stuff. You know, when he stopped acting like a cripple."

"Nice," Astrid spits, rolling to face away from the bed.

"What? I just said he _wasn't_ a cripple," Ruff defends and Astrid sighs, irritable. "I'm just asking."

"Then why so insistent?"

"I'm not being—Ok, I was snooping in the nurse's office the other day, so that I could get detention and be grounded from spending the weekend with my ancient evil grandmother. The old bat smacks me with a ruler, but I'm not _allowed_ to knock—"

"Nurse's office."

"Oh, right. Anyway, I saw that Hiccup's dad is your new emergency contact," she blurts and Astrid grinds her teeth.

"Yeah."

"And your dad was crossed out."

"Yup."

"Whoever did it was pretty angry, there was a hole in the paper," Ruff comments quietly.

"I know."

"And the new contact was in your handwriting—"

"What is this? CSI?" Astrid snaps and Ruff juts her jaw.

"No, Ast—"

"Did you get a fucking handwriting analysis…_person_ to examine my emergency contact sheet?" She spits, the all too familiar fear of being _discovered_ rising in her chest.

Last time it was Hiccup, his too quick mind piecing everything together until she had to _act _to stop him. She had to leave, when all she wanted to do was curl up in his gangly arms and wish that they'd never tried again.

"Astrid, I fight with my parents all the time," Ruff starts, and Astrid seethes, silent and afraid of what might fall out of her mouth. "But I'm going to miss them when I move out. I'm going to be excited to go home for holidays and—"

"Lucky you," Astrid sneers in spite of herself.

"Look, you aren't as clever as you think you are. You suck at covering bruises. I could fucking figure out that there was a reason you were wearing long sleeves when it was ninety degrees outside." Ruff accuses and Astrid makes herself small, "I always assumed it was hickeys, or whatever, but you showed up at school with your nose practically broken—"

"Stop," Astrid commands, voice too high as her chest constricts.

"And now you have like constant hickeys, and you never bother to wear turtlenecks anymore—"

"Seriously, stop." She might puke. Astrid can't make her legs move, she needs to _run_, needs to get away.

"And we both know it's not Scott. He has too many teeth left, and you can totally kick his ass—"

"Do you have to _say_ it?" Astrid asks, eyes itching and spilling onto the pillow beneath her head.

"And I—it's—it _was_ your dad, wasn't it?" Ruff feels _smaller_ than she ever has, like the greater cosmos or galaxy or whatever is going to swoop down and swallow her.

"Yahtzee," Astrid mumbles.

The silence is stifling.

It's at least half a silent hour later when Astrid starts allying herself with the idea of a sleepless night. Ruff has to be asleep by now, she figured out what she wanted to know, and now she's going to leave Astrid like everyone else.

Well, not _everyone_ else, she left Hiccup before he had the chance to leave her.

"Did he do…_more_?" Ruff asks the dark right after Astrid has given up on her. The normally larger than life girl has never felt so incapable of being blunt before.

"More?" Astrid spits.

"Is he the reason you can't—"

"Look," Astrid jumps in to defend herself before Ruff can get any further to admitting what she knows out loud. "It's all really fucked, ok? Scott was…well, he's not exactly a romantic, is he? I was…habitual," she explains miserably. "Hiccup wants me to be…involved. And I just can't. I'm—it's just too fucked up."

"Jesus." Ruff mumbles, for once at a loss.

"Yeah."

"I'm going to murder your dad," Ruff offers, fists clenching around wrinkled handfuls of sheets.

"No, you're not," Astrid sighs, "then you're—if I do anything, if anyone does anything, then I have to _tell_ people."

"Fine, I'm going to shove a cactus up his ass."

"Seriously…the concern is erm…appreciated," she thanks too gently and Ruff snorts. "I figured it out, ok?" Astrid defends, eternally obstinate.

"Does Hiccup know?" Ruff guesses not, because well…he wouldn't have stuck his dick halfway into someone who would react like this. He'd never do anything that Astrid didn't want, it's just…he's one of the good ones.

She pretends not to hear Astrid's pained sob out of solidarity.

"He knows half of it."

"You might want to clue him in."

"I told him what I'm going to tell him," Astrid fights for resolution in her tone.

"Square peg in a round hole?"

"Yup," this is _crying_. The slow drip of her tears onto the pillow like an oozing wound.

"That guy loves you, and you aren't even going to give him a chance?"

"A chance at what?"

"To fix this." Ruff explains quietly and Astrid sobs, the raw sound rhythmic and disgusting exiting her mouth. She wishes Hiccup were here.

"What's he going to do, Ruff? Get a glue-stick? Fresh coat of paint?"

"You've got to give him a _chance_."

"I don't have to do anything," Astrid insists, and Ruff glares at her.

"You're being a freaking _chicken_," she accuses and Astrid frowns.

"Have you ever seen White Fang?" she asks quietly, pressing her face against the damp pillow.

"The movie with the dude and the wolf and stuff?"

"You know how he throws sticks at the wolf so he'll leave and run wild?" Astrid hates how cliché and fake the words sound. She's not even fooling herself, so it's not exactly shocking when Ruff scoffs.

"Hiccup isn't a wolf," she drawls, "He's a retriever."

"I'm not good for him," Astrid insists.

"Probably not," Ruff admits. "But isn't that his choice?"

00000

Hiccup's bed has never seemed colder. The dogs came into the room around midnight, and sheepishly crawled onto the bed, licking around his ears and flanking him in attempted comfort. Toothless doesn't seem too offended when he preferentially pulls Spike onto his chest and pets her boxy head as she rests her chin on his sternum.

The more he thinks about everything, the less sense everything makes.

Astrid is guarded, and abrasive, and he can put it together that a lot of these issues are rooted in her relationship with her father. And he's also sure that Scott's three years of vague negligence definitely didn't positively affect her outlook on men.

At first, it seems like she should be excited for a change. And by now, she should know that he's different, right? He's nothing like Scott, he actually listens to her words and he's made an effort to get to know her.

Maybe she hates that he's not letting her be _guarded_. Maybe _guarded_ is just Astrid, and he's taking away some part of her when he asks her to talk to him.

But even if that is the case, he can't really be mad at himself. She makes him talk, even if all he wants to do is keep everything bottled up, and he can't deny that it is healthier to have stuff out in the open. And well…if in these last three months, he's managed to completely trash their relationship, at least someone _tried_ to figure her out.

Someone paid attention to all the little bits of magic that made the Astrid Hofferson aura. Like the fact that she's deeply superstitious, and that she buries old running shoes in the backyard like a beloved family pet. Someone took care to notice that she'd do anything for nachos, and that she's actually gentle when it comes down to it.

But the more he thought about it, the more the little things started coming together into pieces of a fundamental understanding.

She has perfect posture because she hates being short, and she lashes out because she's used to being lashed out at. She runs until it hurts because she's felt worse, and she keeps secrets because she earnestly expects him to either not care or freak out.

The hopeful part of his brain chimes in without fail that she probably dated Scott because she could steer him like an equally intelligent car.

And not because of those Calvin Klein model arms.

But this doesn't seem like it has anything to do with physical inadequacy. No matter how much he wants the problem to be simply about his leg, he can't make that solution logical. She wasn't looking _at_ him, she was looking through him, beyond him.

It's on her end, and it automatically directs him back to the absolutely disgusting piece of humanoid filth that is her father.

And at first, everything there makes sense, and he can see a scheme of her hostility laid out as a perfect response to her—to what she went through. And if her father—well, there are ways to explain the fact that she's avoiding sex with him like the plague, right? If her father's abuse was emotional, and…

What if she's more self-conscious than she lets on? What if she used Scott to feel better about herself? What if she just doesn't want to use him? What if it's an overwhelmingly positive, absolutely painful rejection?

What if she has a legitimate reason to be afraid of sex?

If he wanted to, he could finish that thought, and put all of this together, but it's not really worth it. It's obviously the wrong direction, because if she were afraid of sex, she—he wouldn't have heard—

Scott.

Astrid had no problem having sex with Scott. And sure, he could make himself happy and assume that they never actually slept together, and then all of this would fit together in the most swimmingly horrible way possible. But…

But Astrid slept with Scott. They dated for three years, no matter how much he hates thinking about it, and they had sex. Lots and lots of sex.

Probably really acrobatic sex that he's never going to be able to accomplish.

He's absolutely virginal, and she's not. There's some number two on her _list_ out there that he hasn't even figured out yet, who was probably absolutely fantastic, and she just doesn't want to tarnish the memory.

And no matter how much he wants this to be easy, no matter how much he wants some sort of single answer to a single problem...it's just more complicated than that. He can't even fathom an individual issue potent enough to mess her up this badly, for this long.

00000

Lunch at school on Friday is glacial.

Hiccup had assumed they would be back to avoiding each other, and he wis almost happily on his way to the library to do homework like a good nerd when Astrid calls him over. He sits at his normal spot, his thigh tingling and six inches from hers, while Astrid alternates glaring at him and looking strangely like she's about to cry between bites.

"I need to talk to you," she says gruffly, standing and loping around the corner before he can answer. He follows reluctantly, wishing he had back-up to bring. But of course, Fishlegs is too smart to side with him and bear Ruff's wrath.

Astrid must have spent the night with Ruff, and that only increases the probability that she's thinking she can't be embarrassed in front of a dead person.

"Yeah?" He asks timidly, ten feet in front of her as she leans back against a cool brick wall, heel propped against the baseboard and tapping.

"So, this break…" She starts before frowning and the ground. All he can see are the dark bags under her eyes, and he can't help but worry about her track meet today. "We shouldn't kiss. Or hug, because that'll just make me want to kiss you. We don't have the right to ask about each other's business." She states slowly, unintentionally complimenting him in a way that makes his stomach drop like a stone.

"It sounds like you're breaking up with me."

"I'm not," she assures him, voice unthinkably glum.

"Is this a Ross and Rachel type break?" He trades his momentary dignity for anything to make her look less tragic.

"No, don't go sleep with anyone," she deadpans and his ghost of a smile melts.

"I wouldn't want to," he assures, too honest, and she curls her lip.

"Doesn't mean someone else won't want to," the jealousy shows through her veneer like embers through a fire grate.

He's suddenly freezing.

"I won't—"

"Just tell me first, if you do," she tells him, and he hates every micron of doubt leaking through her terse tone. "Don't let me learn from Heather."

"What does this have to do with Heather?" He asks, voice peaking above his previous caution.

"Just tell me first," she pushes off of the wall with a sneer and sulks back to her lunch.

He wants to worry. She's decidedly not acting like _Astrid_.

Then again, four months isn't an eternity.

He tries to believe she has an inner drama queen for the sake of his own sanity, but the idea falls flat. The helpless confusion is a resounding kick to the chest.

00000

"What?" Astrid almost shrieks at Gobber as she triple checks the schedule of races next to her name. "One race? Really?" She gripes, glaring at her stony-faced coach down with her hands on cocked hips. "Trust me, you want me to run today," she cracks her knuckles, forcing every molecule of sadness into driving anger. "I'm crazy fast today, I can feel it."

"Crazy fast? How 'bout jus' crazy," Gobber looks at her sternly. "Ye've got worlds in a week, the last thing I want ye te do is hurt yerself teday," he assures her too calmly and she narrows her eyes at the race assignment.

"Two mile?" Astrid checks with him, rolling her neck and nearly bouncing from toe to toe. "I'll do it in 10:00. Hell, I'll break 10. I've got my eye on that 9:48 state record," she grins, feeling almost insane and stretching upwards through her calves and checking her watch. It's half an hour until the race, just enough time to stretch.

"Ye won' go faster than 11:30," Gobber warns and Astrid looks offended. "I want ye on tha' 5:45 pace. That's fast enough as is. Ye'll still win, this isn't even a league meet, it don' matter."

"I can't do a 5-mile at 5:45," she snips, crossing her arms. "Not on hills, not on a new course."

"Good thing ye can do a 2 mile at 5:45," Gobber shrugs, tapping his watch with a metallic hook hand. "Go get stretchin'."

"Fine," Astrid grunts, sauntering away.

"An' not a secon' under 11:30, or ye'll be takin' two days off," he threatens and it takes all of Astrid's vastly improved, but still not Olympic self-control to keep herself from flipping him off.

Everyone else is off warming up, and she resents the silence as she finds a sunny spot to stretch, shivering in her sweats as the cold wind glances across her. She didn't get enough sleep at Ruff's last night. She didn't even eat dinner, but her breakfast big enough for three should at least partially make up for it.

She couldn't drift off, thinking of Hiccup's face and all the irrefutable wrongs that Ruff now knows about. She wonders if she lost a friend into a pool of pity. She wishes she could be happy for Ruff, expanding her emotional spectrum into the realm of pity, but all she wants to do is murder everyone who thinks she's weak.

She sits on the frigid AstroTurf, staring at her toes, and glancing across to her limp racing shoes. At least she gets to wear spikes today. Something about the way that the sharp metal digs into the rubberized track and gives her something real to push with is intoxicating.

She likes track almost as much as cross country. There's something about the public nature of the track that forces a person to keep sharp. There are no secret corners, no quiet nooks where limps appear out of thin air and her mind gets lazy. The two mile has always been a bit _much_ though, by lap six, she feels like some doomed gerbil. Even she gets tired of electric eyes boring into her weaknesses and dragging her around almost endless turns.

Her dad would come to track meets sometimes. He'd sit in the back row and monitor her like some sort of perverse guardian angel. Any laughing, any talking or goofing off and she'd hear about it later. He'd clap when she crossed the finish line, big slow claps. The kind where dual pockets of air slam together in a big man's palms like a metronome from hell.

She glances up at the stands, wondering if he'd be dumb enough to come.

She wonders if she should get a restraining order, but she's too wary of the publicized implications. It's newspaper season, and she'd hate that addendum under her winning headline.

'Athlete Astrid Hofferson, who recently took out a restraining order on her father, her only surviving parent…'

She wonders if she should go home, and take out this anger on who really deserves it. Just hit and kick and bite and punch until she's black and blue and feels better about every time she walked away looking unscathed.

10 minutes.

She pulls her tape out of her deep fleeced pocket and starts on her toes, thinking of Hiccup's pained face and her own shameful cowardice in a torturous loop.

She wishes he were here with her stop watch, looking at her like she's more important than her time. She never wants to look him in the eye again.

He probably called Heather, and they're out running without inhalers and lamenting the tiny percentage of amputees in Congress. And slipping on ice together.

If Hiccup breaks his arm, it won't be Heather's fault, and that too simple fact makes Astrid nauseous.

She can't believe it was ever desirable for Hiccup to be in pain. It's sick, it makes—

"On the track!" Gobber calls at her and shoves her feet into racing spikes, jogging over and glaring at her coach as she lunges forward in lane 1. The girl in 2 looks at her sidelong, eyes hard and determined and too familiar, and Astrid can't help her like she wants to.

She can't be older than a sophomore, and she's from a small school, carrying the weight of her team on her scrawny shoulders. Astrid remembers joining track halfway through her freshman season after soccer didn't work out. Even then she couldn't relate, she was too hard, too used to proving herself so violently that any sort of team sport was out of the question. Not to mention three red cards in three games for slugging the other team's defense.

Her ire fades in the misplaced introspection and she forces herself to snarl, digging her spikes into the track and pitching forward. She clenches her fists until her almost healed knuckle is throbbing and she's _mad_.

Pissed off actually.

Fuming.

The girl next to her has a pink bobby pin at the end of her pinned bangs. No one even told her to take it out, this must be even her coach's first race.

It will be slaughter, and Astrid Hofferson will sling the cleaver with a grin.

Bang!

She launches herself forward, almost tripping over power she'd forgotten she has, surging to the front and stretching her legs with a grin that she can just feel is malicious. No matter what, she missed this.

The first lap is cake, the cool air lemonade to her hot, raw lungs. She can barely hear footsteps behind her as she crosses the first lap's finish. Her team is back from warm up and they cheer from the edge of the track.

Even as recently as last season, no one cheered. She used to think that made her strong, doing everything on her own without poor man's encouragement. Now she can't help but realize she was too weak to share her success.

She wants to be weak now, after yesterday. She doesn't deserve their cheering. She wants howling, impenetrable silence.

She wants to drown in the sound of her own heaving breaths.

She's going way too fast at the end of her first 800 and Gobber sternly taps his watch. She glares at him and runs faster, stretching her legs until her hip flexors are on fire.

She laps the JV mob on her third lap and cheekily grins at Gobber as she passes the mile mark before 5:00. The winter has definitely never been a time for hard training before, and she feels strong rushing into the second half of her race.

By six laps, her mouth tastes like blood and she's managed to shove Hiccup's face out of her mind for the first time since last night. She ducks her head and runs faster, surging into the beginning of her seventh lap with an open mouthed and desperate gasp for air.

Before she rounds her first corner, her eyes lock onto the second place girl, three quarters of a lap behind her. The girl looks anxious, in pain, dirty blonde ponytail bobbing unevenly behind her.

Astrid recognizes the face from a long time ago, years ago down the rabbit hole before she knew her own feet. The younger runner is going way too fast to keep up with the front runner, too wet behind the ears to know better. Her unskilled ankle twists violently to the inside and she goes down, falling on her own spikes with a yelp that freezes the world.

Good, now no one can catch her, Astrid thinks to herself as a mantra.

She stares at the girl, who gets back up, jogging forward, jaw set into a determined grimace as she limps onto her bobbling ankle. Blood trickles down her other calf and Astrid waits for her to stop.

She doesn't. The girl speeds up, almost running, lopsided and painful to watch. Astrid's eyes widen at the realization of the sudden uncomfortable sensation as her hands clench.

She's running too fast, her lungs ache but it's different from the separate stabbing pain three inches to the left. She wants to ignore it. She does. But well…Hiccup would want her to listen to it.

All of their first pleasant interactions came from acting on discomfort, doing something horribly out of character to alleviate it. Hiccup would say it's wrong to run by. He'd say it's _decent_ to stop and help.

Hiccup isn't running.

Hiccup doesn't run like she does. He doesn't bear down and charge. He's probably spooked off of charging for good, since he ran into that animal shelter—

She…she must have taught him how to charge. And when he does, he…he charges with style.

That thought sticks with her, oddly potent as she comes up behind the girl.

20 meters behind her, 50 meters to the finish, Astrid is sprinting and she can't remember why. Gobber looks at her furiously from the sidelines, face red beneath his blonde moustache.

The girl is breathing harder than Astrid when she passes by, ragged almost-sobs tearing out of her throat. She's talented and stubborn, Astrid can tell that much.

She ran that fast for that long and tripped, that must be heartbreaking. What made her trip? Was it a childhood injury? Was it a bad ankle? Did she sprain it playing on a beach or running in the backyard?

Or was it just a weak point she found later, a ticking time bomb of an Achilles heel in her leg, like Astrid's knee?

The finish line looms fifteen feet ahead. There's an angry Gobber and a win, and going home to a sullen Hiccup.

She _hates_ the sound of the girl's pained breathing close behind her.

Astrid stops running, staring at the finish line three feet in front of her toes. She grins at Gobber's snarl and flippantly turns around jogging back to the girl and falling into slow step beside her.

She reaches down and pulls the girl's arm over her shoulders, taking some weight. The girl stops with the support, breathing too hard and spitting a thick, dehydrated wad of spit onto the ground as time slows down. Astrid's breath rushes back into her lungs and she tries not to make eye contact with a confused, probably still furious Gobber.

A minute passes.

The new winner blows through the finish, and Astrid smiles, feeling horribly off kilter and _real_.

"Hey, I'm Astrid. You were running _some_ race," she introduces when the girl is breathing closer to normally, tugging towards the finish.

"I'm Hannah," she coughs, wincing. "Fucking ankles, right?"

"It's a knee for me," Astrid submits, grinning through the pain as she tugs across the finish line. She thinks she got 3rd…something like 3rd.

She's ok with this third place.

"Aren't you gonna let me stop?" The girl asks, defeated and in pain as they round into her last lap.

"I figured you'd want to finish," Astrid grins, sliding a wiry arm around the girl's back and urging her onward.

"You would have won," Hannah gasps and Astrid grins to herself in spite of everything.

Of course she would have won. No one but _her_ ever doubts how strong she is, how fast, how athletically gifted. No one doubts how smart she is, how pretty she is, how _worthy_ she is.

Everyone doubts her kindness and decency. Her empathy is under a microscope and for the first time, it seems fixable, mutable. She can be good, and it's worth trying.

She's never been happier than when she was with Hiccup, being as noble as he hoped she was.

"It would have been shitty to win like that," Astrid grins, heaving as she takes more weight and urges the girl onwards.

They cross the finish line at 15:40. They aren't even last.

A duo of medical men in orange vests peel Hannah away almost immediately and Astrid folds forward, hugging her stomach and deciding whether she wants to puke. She wants to, she wants to purge what she just did, what she just threw away. She hates that she doesn't care. She hates that she's laughing at Gobber's exasperated face as she stands up.

"What?" She asks, grinning and cocking a hip at him. "I didn't beat 10:00."

"Ye still did 11:53," Gobber shakes his head, obviously lamenting her ratio of athleticism to brains. "3rd place."

"Better than the last time I got third," she defends.

"You got third in the nation Astrid," Gobber chastises her and she blinks at him.

"I'm going to go cool down."

"Good idea," he shakes his head, smiling wearily. "Change yer shoes first."

00000

**Some people are suggesting a further spaced update schedule to give more time to read and re-read, and I would be open, but I would like an opinion. Either review or PM me with preferences please. **

**Thank you. **


	13. Chapter 13

**So I just realized that I forgot to wish everyone a Merry Christmas and say that I won't be posting until Friday due to the holiday! **

00000

Hiccup too eagerly jumps to his feet at the knock on the door, more sick of silence than he ever thought possible. Opening the door for Heather and ordering the dogs back is an unfamiliar sensation. Most people that come over now days know about the greeting assault, and it makes this particular situation even more profoundly different.

"Hey!" She greets too loudly, and Spike drops to her stomach, looking at Hiccup warily.

"It's ok, girl," Hiccup mumbles, bending over and rubbing the dog behind her velvety gray ears. She stays glued to the floor, whining almost silently low in her throat.

"Wow, he is big," Heather comments obviously, reaching a cautious hand out for Toothless to sniff. The wolf smiles and licks her fingers, presenting his neck for scratching. Spike whimpers, alarmed at the stranger touching her friend and Hiccup reaches down, soothingly scratching her shoulders. "And she's _big_ too," Heather points to Spike and clicks over, offering her hand.

"She's a little skittish," Hiccup defends as Spike reels back from the foreign fingers, lips pulled back from her teeth in a nervous snarl. Heather recalls her hand like greased lightning and Toothless repositions himself for more scratching.

"Sorry," Heather grins. "Is it bad that I just don't trust pit-bulls?" She laughs, shrugging off the comment as soon as it's said.

Hiccup frowns.

"They're just dogs," he insists lamely. He wants to go find a pamphlet, wants to get on the computer and show her everything he showed Astrid once upon a time.

It doesn't feel worth it somehow. He realizes in that moment that Heather is less mutable than even Astrid, governed by opinion over logic. He could talk her ear off, show her how _sweet _and tell her how _brave_ Spike really is, and none of that would matter in the slightest.

He misses Astrid, his Astrid, more than ever. He wants the girl who holds his hand at the hospital, and who sleep talks on the couch after she falls asleep at 7:30. He wants the Astrid that makes him feel strong when she hugs him. He wants her to come back to him on her own, he wants her to actually talk this time, and not brush it off like every other silent wave of depression she's had over the last months.

She's never going to talk to him if he has to keep forcing it out of her mouth.

He's done letting her lie her way out of sobbing and anger. He let her in, whether it was on purpose or not, she knows everything. She knows about his insecurities and his issues, but somehow, she's managed to keep herself still partially out of his reach. No matter how hard he tries, he's never going to grasp that far corner of Astrid, and he wants all of her. He wants her to realize that he won't hurt her, and trust him.

It doesn't seem like too much to ask after everything.

"I don't know, you always hear about them attacking old ladies and little kids," she looks at Spike, almost posed into a picture of wariness, brown eyes wide with what can't be actual fear. Hiccup can't hold back from rolling his eyes this time.

"That's because they're abused and trained to be mean," his two cents falls out of his mouth and she looks at him, expression blank.

Obviously that's not what she expected him to say.

He likes Astrid's shocked face better. It's mischievously terrifying, and he can never tell whether he wants to stay and watch or run for his life.

"I don't know," she shrugs, smoothly pulling her phone out of her pocket and frowning at it quietly before grinning. "I guess I'm used to the little guys," she shows him a picture of…an ewok in drag?

"Oh—Ah!—Ah, that's hmm—" Hiccup does his best to sugarcoat his startled yelp and Heather smiles.

"His name is Duke Charles, he's full Shih Tzu, his dad won Westminster back in 2007," she touts proudly and Hiccup nods, mentally convincing himself that there's not a Shih Tzu hiding under his bed to jump out at him later.

"Wait, Charles…if he's a guy, why does his sweater thing have pink glitter on it?" He asks, trying to hide his disproportionate alarm.

Dogs want to be running and chasing toys, not sitting for posed portraits in pink _clothes_. He hopes that's true across the canine board, or he's going to have to seriously rethink his perception of reality.

"Sequins," she corrects him, stubbornly showing him the picture again. "And desert rose brings out the white in his fur."

"Well, erm," he nods awkwardly. "I'm sure he must be happy about that."

"He is," she smiles at the picture, and for a second, she's just a girl who loves her dog.

Or mutated pygmy ewok, whatever.

"Ok, so did you bring a movie?" He asks, utterly sure that she wouldn't be interested in any of his and that Astrid would kill him if he touched hers without asking.

"Oh, right, yeah," she pulls a DVD out of her bag before setting it on the floor next to the couch. "I figured for old time's sake," she flashes him the cover of Forrest Gump, and he frowns.

"We just saw that last week."

"It never gets old," she insists, deftly inserting it into the player and flopping onto the couch, already at home.

He remembers the first time Astrid sat there, straight backed and awkward, staring around the room through blackened eyes. He remembers how determined her scowl was, how happy Toothless was to see her.

There are a million things that he wants to tell her, a host of little things he misses, things he never ever wanted to change. He's tired of yelling and fighting, tired of hoping this time it'll be ok. Tired of thinking that if he just tries one more time they'll be reasonable, and they'll talk.

"Come on grumpy, you're missing it," Heather pats the cushion next to her and he sits almost primly on the far end of the couch. She scoots closer to him, sprawling comfortably as the end of her sleek ponytail tickles his bare arm.

He guesses that the good thing about this movie is its repeatability. He doesn't exactly mind watching it again, even if it is a little soon. It always seems harmlessly enjoyable until Vietnam, where everything zooms in too close, and it feels like the TV is playing directly to his left leg.

He hates seeing Lieutenant Dan laying there, waiting for everything to be over. He hates how knowing what's coming makes his phantom toes clench and curl, miserable in the too tight cage of his imagination. He sighs relieved when the scene switches to eating ice cream in the hospital and breathes deeply.

Heather leans forward and hits pause, shoving to her feet and walking almost too confidently towards the hallway.

"I've got to use the bathroom," she tells him, and he almost directs her somewhere else. She's going to come across Astrid's preferred bathroom first, and it feels like a first degree cross contamination. Surely enough, she's looking at him strangely when she walks back into the living room, sitting in the middle of the couch and leaning too far sideways towards him. "So is that your mom's own personal bathroom or something?"

"What?" He asks, shrinking away as their knees make uncomfortable too hot contact.

"It's full of girly stuff" she looks too closely at his face. "Unless you're the one who wears indigo eyeliner."

"Not today," he shrugs and her eyes widen. "Joke."

"Oh, right," she elbows him and it doesn't even hurt. "Anyway, whose stuff is that?"

"It's Astrid's," Hiccup tells her quietly and she raises an eyebrow.

"She has that much stuff at your place, but she won't even have sex with you?" Heather asks, exasperated and indelicate, and Hiccup can't help but leap into defensive mode.

"She's staying here for—"

"She's staying here? That's not healthy—"

"Play the movie," Hiccup cuts her off, suddenly exhausted and terser than she probably deserves. Heather seems to take him seriously and she punches a couple buttons on the remote, rewinding the movie to the beginning of that horribly relatable scene. A special effects bomb booms like a bulldozer smacking concrete and Hiccup jumps. "We just watched this part."

"Oh, it's my favorite," she shrugs, arm somehow close enough to brush over his.

"_This_ is your favorite scene?" Hiccup asks too loudly, staring down the throat of irony unblinking. "The scene where someone's legs get exploded to the point where he needs them amputated is your favorite?" He drawls and she nods. "Talk about unhealthy—"

The door opens and shuts and Spike runs out from her mysterious hiding place to dance around Astrid's feet. The blonde girl looks at Hiccup levelly, less deranged than he remembers.

"Hey, watching a movie?" She asks, shaking her head and jutting her jaw in a way that he instinctively knows means trouble. Her face softens seemingly out of her control when he looks at her concerned, furrowing his eyebrows at her expression. "Forrest Gump? That's a classic."

"Hey Astrid!" Heather greets too enthusiastically, scooting away from Hiccup like he's suddenly on fire. It doesn't seem genuine somehow and Astrid's face falls before she can stop it.

Hiccup wants to make it better so much it's a physical pain.

"Hey Heather," she responds, and Hiccup doesn't miss the subtle mocking in her falsely chipper voice. He manages to bite his tongue and hold back his smile.

"Here, come watch the rest of this with us," she offers and Astrid shakes her head.

"Actually, I'm just coming from a track meet," she adjusts her gym bag on her shoulder, her free hand dancing soothing circles over Spike's boxy head. "I need a shower."

"Oh, how'd that go?" Hiccup asks quietly and Astrid shrugs, still not quite normal as she smiles.

"Did you win?" Heather cues on the smile.

"No, I didn't," she shrugs, still impermeably happy.

"What?" Hiccup squawks, unable to consolidate her pleasant expression with what she's saying.

"I would have won, but someone tripped. I stopped to help," she explains with a deceptively nonchalant shrug, and Hiccup's eyebrows threaten to disappear into his hairline.

"That was really nice of you," Heather comments, seemingly not aware of the awkward silence between everyone else in the room.

"It felt like the right thing to do," Astrid smiles mildly. "Still got third."

"Well, if you want to come watch with us after your shower," Heather offers, simultaneously gracious and rude as she starts scooting back towards the center of the couch _and_ Hiccup.

"Eh, I'm good,' she looks at the screen and grimaces at the too real CGI of Lieutenant Dan's shortened legs. "That's a little too…accurate. I'm sure you guys understand." She bows out with that remarkable snippet of raw honesty and Hiccup can't help but stare. "We'll see you guys," she bends down and picks her dog up, hefting the squirming sweetheart back to her room with seemingly unlabored footsteps.

"Wow, she's strong," Heather snips, going for cheerful but ending up with bitter. Hiccup doesn't notice.

"Yeah, she really is."

He…

He needs to reevaluate.

After he gave up on the…parental abuse as a cause for all of this, everything has been generically pointing to some vestigial bitchy portion of Astrid rearing its ugly head and wreaking havoc. But if she's dropped even her ruthlessness in competition, there physically cannot be enough bitchiness left in her to destroy him the way that she did so easily.

Her freaking out has nothing to do with pettiness, nothing to do with an admitted flair for the dramatic. The girl he knows and _loves_ sacrificed a win today for someone else she doesn't know, and yesterday she cried and freaked out over nothing he could discern.

_Something_ is seriously wrong.

00000

Somehow, Heather can't leave soon enough. Hiccup is absolutely relieved to see her go in a way that completely confuses and excites him. He should be dreading the silent loneliness, should be wary to even approach Astrid.

He walks back down the hallway towards his bedroom, eyes locked on Astrid's shut door the entire way. Should he knock? Should he try? Is it going to be—what if this makes everything worse?

Maybe if he gives her that chance to talk, she will. Or maybe something inside of him is dying to tell her about his day. He stops in the hallway in front of her bedroom and stares at the door, too silent. He raises a fist, knocking on air and contemplating stepping forward before her bathroom door swings open on his left and she steps out, inelegantly wiping a dribble of toothpaste off of her chin.

She stops short and stares at him, tottering a step backwards.

"Hey…" She greets in a low voice, tucking her hands sheepishly into her sweat pants pocket and glaring at him briefly before looking back at her feet.

"Hi."

"So that's what you were going to say?" she laughs humorlessly, looking back at him. "You were going to come back here to say hi?"

"I was going to ask you about your race," he admits quietly and she shrugs.

"Exactly what I said," she nods. "Someone fell, I stopped to help, and I got third."

"You don't seem too upset about it," he comments, and the three feet between them feels like an ocean. She's so close it's almost overwhelming.

"I'm not."

"Why'd you stop?" He asks and she tries to be hostile before sighing and pushing her hair back from her face. All this time outside at track has burnished a new strip of freckles below the half of her hairline not normally covered by her bangs, and all he wants to do is _touch_ her.

"It was the right thing to do," she shrugs. "I mean—It wasn't even a league meet." The statement sounds absolutely hollow and she grits her teeth, looking back at him stubbornly. "She needed help, so I helped her."

"I'm not saying it wasn't the right thing to do—"

"And third—third is fine," she snips. "Sometimes. Third is fine _sometimes_. Sometimes."

"Third was great at Nationals, Astrid," he cues on the too familiar tone in her face and she smiles sadly.

"I know that," she sighs, leaning back against the wall and looking up at him evenly. He looks impossibly more handsome than the day before. More handsome and deeper and sadder and…she wants to hug him. She wonders if she can get away with it, but it feels too intimate, it feels too much like—it's not good for him. It's not good.

"I'm glad."

She should leave, she should say goodnight and go to bed. She should just go into her room and go to bed, and ignore everything about him that makes her want to talk and—

"How was the movie?" She asks before she can help herself, looking up at him through her eyelashes.

"It was alright—I mean, it was Forrest Gump," he stutters obviously, more than a bit shocked at the almost _friendly_ question.

"Yeah, didn't you two just watch that last week? I wanted to say something but—" it was awkward. Heather was staring at her like a _champion_. "Yeah…"

"That's what I said," he almost smiles before it feels far too wrong and his hands fall limply against his thighs. "Thanks for what you said earlier."

"It's the truth," she glances absolutely sympathetic at his leg and bites her lip. "I don't like thinking about it. And—I—I don't want you to become an alcoholic, and that movie terrifies me," she admits too quietly and he flushes, feeling impossibly loved considering her exit the day before.

"I'm not going to become an alcoholic," he assures her before grinning quietly, feeling supremely awkward on his own two feet. "But I probably won't invest in Apple either…" She laughs, and for a moment, everything is right.

"If we weren't on a break, I'd hug you," her smile dies and she coughs, staring him down like a challenge. Her heart is beating completely, uncomfortably fast.

"You can still hug me."

"You shouldn't want to hug me after yesterday," she asserts. "That was horrible."

"I'm worried about you," he admits quietly and she frowns.

"I don't deserve you worrying about me."

"That's not going to stop me."

"Don't worry about me." She orders, her throat shockingly tight as she avoids that piercing green gaze. She wishes the hallway were wider. She wishes she were closer to him, wrapped up in those long, skinny arms.

It's silent for too long, and they collapse into awkward, piercing eye contact. Hiccup flushes and refuses to break.

"I didn't…I didn't even try and convince Heather not to be afraid of Spike," he admits and Astrid smirks.

"You're smart," she laughs. "You knew she wouldn't listen."

"How did you know?" He asks and she shrugs.

"It's sort of like a funhouse mirror," she admits. "Some alternate world thingy—"

"Like looking through a wormhole," he nods, "I've noticed that between you two a little bit." Her face falls and he plows forward. "I like this universe better."

"You should hate me!" She bursts, and Spike scrambles to her feet in the kitchen, trotting worriedly down the hallway and sitting at Astrid's feet. "After yesterday, you should hate me. I destroyed—I—That was _horrible_. We're on a break now—you should…"

"I don't hate you."

"And that's weird," she admits quietly.

"Heather has a Shih Tzu," Hiccup changes the subject and Astrid looks at him strangely. "His name is Duke Charles, and he likes pink sweaters and if we're honest, he scares the shit out of me." Astrid laughs out loud, and the too normal sound takes them both by surprise.

"Duke Charles, huh?"

"And I'm worried I'm going to have to meet him and I'm going to over react—"

"What? Are you going to throw him out a window?" She guffaws and Spike lays down, comforted.

"Do you think that would work?" He asks with a smile and she crosses her arms, suddenly split open by the gap-toothed honesty. She's sure she's transparent, and he can see every awful thing inside of her, trying to claw its way out into the open.

"Kill it with fire…" She mutters, frowning and pushing off of the wall, sliding slowly towards her bedroom door. "I should go to bed."

"Yeah…me too," his face falls and the urge to hug him is stronger than ever. She clenches her fists, digging her fingernails into her palms, trying and failing to quell the overwhelming urge.

"Goodnight."

"I'm going to have nightmares about being eaten by freaky little mutant dogs," he laughs quietly, and she shrugs, barely grinning.

"If you do…keep it down?" She references and he smiles sadly, wishing he'd stayed that night, the first time everything was broken.

"I'll try."

"Goodnight, Hiccup."

00000

Hiccup takes a too long slurp from his soda and relaxes back into the fast-food booth, listlessly nibbling on a fry, wishing away his Saturday. Fishlegs pauses in the middle of his third dollar menu burger, setting it down with a crinkle and looking critically at his friend.

"Earlier, when you said you were fine, you were lying, weren't you?"

"I was wondering how long it'd take you to catch that," Hiccup snarks, tapping his _foot_ against the table's central leg with a repetitive clanging.

It's not his _foot_ she has a problem with. It's something bigger than the both of them.

The truth had hit him the night before when he was trying to drift off, wishing she'd at least left her bedroom door open so he could hear Spike's wheezy snoring. She…she feels his leg, feels what it means to him, seems to understand even more than Heather on some subliminal, connected level.

She never looked at it in disgust.

She looked at _him_, but he's not dumb enough to think that suddenly she finds him repulsive on the whole. Something is wrong with them, with the way they are interacting

It's less shocking than he wishes it were.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Fishlegs asks, sublimely awkward, and Hiccup shakes his head.

"Nope. I really don't."

"Because Ruff said I should try and get you to talk to me," Hiccup rolls his eyes, slumping down further in his seat and glaring at his friend.

"Ruff should mind her own business."

"Good lucking telling _her_ that," Fishlegs wheezes slightly at the idea. At least +4 pain on that particular suggestion.

"Did she have another _brilliant_ advice?" Hiccup asks after a minute, grasping at straws.

"She said that I should tell you that if you're going to move on, you should do it so that Astrid can get over you by Worlds," he quotes his girlfriend verbatim.

"That's encouraging that she could get over me in a week, I feel so special," he snarks bitterly, drinking a long slurp of his soda.

"Don't shoot the messenger."

Fishlegs wishes that Ruff would have just talked to Hiccup, instead of sending him into the abyss. She seems to know so much about this, but saw no reason to clue him in.

"I'm not—" Hiccup groans, pushing a hand through his hair. "I'm never going to move on. I mean, let's be honest, how many Astrid Hofferson's are out there running around willing to date me."

"It's not a common name. But you're 18, the chances that you'd find another girlfriend eventually are at least 9 out of 10," Fishlegs professes.

"I don't want to move on," he clarifies.

"Ruff said you'd say that," Fishlegs admits and Hiccup glares.

"If Ruff knows everything, why are we even doing this?"

"She said it would either make you nut up and talk to Astrid, or you'd whine to me."

"I don't whine," Hiccup snips, crossing his arms and looking around the room. A younger gaggle of girls giggle when he glances past them and he flushes, staring intently back at the table.

"Maybe you should try it?" Fishlegs offers tentatively and Hiccup frowns.

"Try what?"

"Moving on," the smaller boy glares at his friend, pushing the fries away as his already minimal appetite disappears completely.

"I don't want to," he pouts and Fishlegs shrugs. "Plus, I'm about done with your Ruff orchestrated mind games."

"This suggestion is definitely _not_ Ruff approved," he admits sheepishly and Hiccup rolls his eyes.

"So brave," he looks at his friend judgmentally before frowning and fiddling with the seam on his cardboard cup. "I still don't want to move on."

"One of those girls is short and blonde," Fish offers and Hiccup glares at him.

"Oh wow, short and blonde? Totally better just go assault her!" He snaps too loudly and the blonde girl in question giggles nearly maniacally.

"I'm just trying to help," Fishlegs mumbles and Hiccup sighs. "But she's not quite your type anyway."

"Oh, and what exactly is my type?" He asks, raising an indignant eyebrow. Fishlegs fiddles with a hamburger wrapper before answering sheepishly.

"Blonde, pretty, terrifying. Scowls a lot."

"You just described Astrid," Hiccup sighs.

Well, he described _public_ Astrid. Not the one who cries when she's frustrated and throws worms back onto the grass after they're flushed out by the rain. Not the one who screams and loves and _hugs_ harder than anyone he's ever known. Not the girl who takes his dad's help with a wary tight-lipped grin, collapsing into the jock daughter he never had but always wanted.

Hiccup burps, exhaling slowly through his mouth.

"Well, I deduced your _type_ from observation," Hiccup curls his lip at the insinuation of being observed.

"You've only ever seen me like Astrid."

"So she forms the basis of your type, obviously I could be more accurate with a larger sample size, but with the given information—"

"It's not math homework," Hiccup snaps, the numbers swimming around his head and drowning emotions in swirling pools of reason. He wants to _feel_ though, wants to be miserable.

The still weak half of him, the one who wants to chase her down and apologize for everything he didn't do blames him for making her miserable. The rest of him blames a shitty situation, wallowing in the nuances.

One thing is agreed upon, however. Being _happy_ or even _distracted_ is not a viable option.

"I'm just helping," the bigger boy repeats. Ruff thought it'd be easier than this, but maybe he shouldn't trust his masculine interactions with someone who definitionally can't participate in the 'guy talk' phenomenon.

"So you're saying Astrid is my type?" He asks, miserable understanding settling over him like a fog.

"By definition."

"You're wrong. My type is Astrid," he grumbles, hating the hard truth. "She is my type, the entire sampling population is Astrid."

"Then why aren't you…doing anything about it?" Fish asks and Hiccup laughs dryly.

"I have my er…tail between my legs indefinitely," he explains, flushing crimson despite his best efforts to stay placid.

"Ruff can say mean things too, I think it's normal," the larger boy explains, trying to be supportive. "She calls me a freak at least 4 times a day, but it's in a nice way."

"That's not it." Hiccup rubs a hand over his face, wishing he could talk to…wishing this wasn't so hard to talk about. "We still haven't done _it_," he stares at the table and Fishlegs raises his eyebrows.

"With your historic kissing frequency, that shouldn't be a problem."

"Well, it is. I guess," Hiccup snaps, distracting himself with a long sip of soda. "Square peg, round hole." He laments quietly, forgetting his audience for the moment.

"I'm assuming you mean that metaphorically, because you most likely tend pretty close to the cylindrical mean." Fishlegs mumbles and Hiccup widens his eyes in disbelief, shaking his head.

"I'm going to pretend I never heard that."

"Is it…prismatic? Because that's something I'd be interested in seeing—"

"Of course it's cylindrical!" Hiccup hisses and the table falls into awkward silence as he takes the lid off of his empty drink, chewing on the end of the straw to avoid eye contact.

"Is that the er…problem?" Fishlegs asks, cautiously helpful.

"No, my cylindrical penis is not the problem."

"No," the blonde boy continues, sheepish. "I mean is not having sex the problem?"

"I don't know," Hiccup admits, chewing on his lip. Hanging out with Astrid seems to have doubled his array of nervous habits. "I mean…obviously I _want_ to."

"Maybe I can help, I mean Ruff and I—"

"No offense, but I really don't want to hear all about you and your girlfriend's perfect hot sex life."

"At least you got a few months to get used to kissing and stuff before some crazy girl tried to take your pants off."

"Poor you," Hiccup laments sarcastically, frowning. "Wait, you didn't _want _her to take your pants off?"

"Not initially, I was still taking stock of the situation."

"I can't believe I'm sitting here listening to you complain about your girlfriend getting into your pants," Hiccup nearly wheezes.

"I'm not complaining." Fishlegs sighs, "So…did you guys try it—or did it just not…" he stutters away to nothing and Hiccup rubs tense hands over his cheeks.

Maybe he should at least _try_ talking. Then maybe his having talked will inspire Astrid into at least hinting at whatever is going on in that head of hers.

"What makes you an authority anyway?" Hiccup stalls, a self-ordained glutton for punishment.

"I lose count of my successes last week," Fishlegs announces proudly.

"_You_ lost count of something?"

"I'm proud of that statistical anomaly," the other boy defends smugly and Hiccup groans.

"So then, what am I doing wrong?"

"Have you guys even erm…tried?" Fishlegs asks quietly and Hiccup wheezes.

"We've done some stuff…" He almost gestures with a fist before giving up with an embarrassed sigh. Fishlegs nods in partial understanding and Hiccup continues. "Twice for the er…act. The first time didn't get far though. And we've seriously done other stuff…but she was never er…recipient," Hiccup flushes, his pants suddenly too tight thinking about it as his voice drops into bitterness. Fishlegs cups his chin pensively.

"And the second try?" He asks clinically.

"Umm…It was erm…day before yesterday. It's why she's so pissed at me, I think," Hiccup starts, shaking his head. He shouldn't be saying this. This is weird. Very very weird. "And we were uhh…naked," it makes him blush and he looks around, making sure no one is listening in. "How much…what do you need to know?" He mumbles and Fishlegs shrugs.

"That was good. So you two were naked…"

"Err…yeah," he holds his hands out, visualizing and regretting it as confused arousal floods his brain. "And I was umm…on top of—yeah," he bumbles, and Fishlegs nods sagely, bright red. "And she was putting _it_ erm…_in_," he bites his lip. "Feel free to stop me. Anytime. Really."

"If it went in, how is this an _attempt_? Seems to me like it crossed the success threshold." Fishlegs assesses critically and Hiccup grips the edge of the table with white knuckles.

"She pushed me off," he admits, flexing his shoulders at the caustic memory.

"Out."

"Whatever! She shoved me away from her, ok?" Hiccup snaps, rubbing at his cheeks like he could _claw_ the blush away.

"Was she ready?" Fishlegs asks and Hiccup shrugs, "like, was she wet?"

"She was only crying a little bit—Oh, oh. I don't know…how wet is…er, wet?" Fishlegs raises judgmental eyebrows.

"She was crying?"

"She told me to keep going!" Hiccup defends and Fishlegs looks at him critically.

"Through the tears?"

"Yes."

"Why'd you do it?" He asks gently, staring at his last burger. It's probably cold by now, and that's a tragedy.

"She said if we just did it _once_, it'd be better next time." It sounds stupid to say in the light of day and Hiccup flushes.

"Well, if she were a virgin…" This earns the larger boy a truly terrifying glare and he shrinks back, squeaking. "Never mind."

"It's just—" Hiccup sighs, "I don't know what I'm doing. And I tried…researching, and everything was ridiculous," he complains and his friend nods, commiserating.

"Did she seem to be in to the foreplay?" Fishlegs asks carefully, keeping his mind focused solely on his own girlfriend.

"Ha, foreplay?" Hiccup laughs miserably, "I wish. She didn't want me to touch her."

"What?" Fishlegs asks incredulous, "no wonder your square peg wasn't going—"

"She said she doesn't _like_ it," he cuts his friend off, choosing to ignore the 'square peg' comment in favor of getting somewhere in this horribly awful conversation.

"She was lying to you," Fishlegs asserts sagely and Hiccup throws his hands up.

"Great, tell me more about my sexless, deceitful relationship."

"That's an inaccurate interpretation—" Fishlegs starts, before being cut off.

"Well, she won't have sex with me, and now you're saying she's lying. Unless I'm misremembering what deceitful means…" He trails off with an overdramatic shrug and Fishlegs sighs.

"The probability that Scott Nout was good in bed is very low."

"Eww…not exactly something I want to think about."

"Women are complicated," the larger boy instructs his friend quietly and Hiccup nods, even he can understand that much. "So you said you tried _researching_?" The bigger boy asks helpfully after a pause.

"And even I know all of it was shit," Hiccup mumbles, trying to divert the conversation. He's not proud of seeing some of the stuff that his clicking found.

He is _still_ getting viruses off of his computer.

"That probably puts you a few parsecs ahead of Scott," Hiccup grimaces suddenly as the disturbing images in his head left over from his research session are filled with Scott.

Naked Scott.

Ugh.

"Eww, stop mentioning Scott."

Fishlegs frowns, at a loss. The truth is, he probably owes Hiccup some advice. Who taught him how to generate random numbers for his stats program in C++?

Hiccup.

Who figured out the flaw in their Sophomore year's trebuchet and got them to Nationals?

Hiccup.

And who let him copy calculus homework that shameful time Junior year when he _forgot_?

Hiccup.

"Maybe I should draw you a schematic. I found field research to be the most effective when it comes to physical—"

"I don't want a _schematic_."

"Why not?" Fishlegs asks, hurt.

"First, I don't really want that much er…knowledge of Ruff. And Second, this probably isn't ever going to happen now."

"Why?"

"You didn't see her face…it wasn't exactly inspiring."

"But what about later?" Fishlegs asks, knowing Ruff will be pissed at just how far off script he really is right now.

"Right, because whatever mysterious reason Astrid doesn't want me obviously has an expiration date." Hiccup pats his pocket as his phone vibrates, and he pulls it out, staring at the text with a frown. "Ugh, Heather wants me to go see a movie with her. I've got five dollars on it being Forrest Gump."

"Heather seems to like you a lot," Fishlegs suggests quietly, almost able to feel his girlfriend's angry fists against his head.

"She is my friend. It's normal for friends to like you."

"I mean like more than as a friend."

"Right," Hiccup laughs, the absurdity of even thinking about Heather that way almost overwhelming.

"I'm serious," Fishlegs insists.

"Right," Hiccup almost growls, refusing the conversation.

"Are you going to go see a movie with her?" The bigger boy asks, feeling like a famous spy and a bumbling idiot all at once.

"Nope, I'm going to sit around and feel sorry for myself in peace."

"If it's really this _dismal_, are you really never going to move on?"

"I don't really see what I'd move on—It's like…once you've booted up an Alienware, no Dell is ever going to seem fast again."

"Dell bought Alienware."

"You get what I'm saying," Hiccup growls, wishing his friend didn't have to bring up all the grand injustices at once.

"Then why aren't you doing anything about it?" Fishlegs repeats his earlier question, craving understanding.

"Because, _she_ has to do something too," he insists, and his friend can't help but notice a distinct correlation between the boy's defined backbone and miserable expression. Hiccup hates the truth in his statement and wishes more than anything he could be happy and sitting on a firmly closed folder of unresolved issues. "But for the record, Toothless is on your side."

"You got Toothless' opinion?" Fishlegs asks with a chuckle and Hiccup glares.

"You let Meatlug pick out her brand of insulin."

"She's sensitive," Fishlegs defends, and Hiccup nearly pulls a muscle refraining from rolling his eyes.

"And apparently so is Astrid."

00000

**So. I love this chapter, even if it's a little short. That Duke Charles. **

**And I realized something guys, and I feel dumb. The actual duration that this story takes place over is actually shorter than the amount of time I've been releasing Chapters…**

**So that's probably adding to the drawn out feeling…So I'm going to ask you guys to keep in mind that this so far is barely two weeks. And if anyone expresses interest, I'd be more than willing to post a full schedule of events after the story to clear that up! **

**Thank you for all the wonderful reviews last chapter and Lionheart, let's bake those cookies! **


	14. Chapter 14

**I hope everyone had an absolutely wonderful holiday! **

00000

Astrid can't sleep. She's been staring at the ceiling for hours, counting chips in the plaster and shivering no matter how tightly she hugs Spike to her chest. Everything seems so wrong.

She's thinking about home. She's thinking about family and loneliness and enemies and wondering when things went so bad. She remembers when her mom was almost happy, and her dad was a goofy sun between the frequent storm clouds.

She never knew her fraternal grandparents. Her grandpa died of a dreadfully common form of cancer when she was two weeks old, give or take. There are pictures of her somewhere, still newborn lumpy in the dying man's arms. She made him so happy, or so everyone told her. That was when her dad started downhill, he was never the same man after his father died. Apparently her granddad was a hoot, and a civil rights activist fly in the racist Swede milk of Lubbock, Kansas.

Her dad cried once, telling her a story after about six beers. When he was in first grade, he had a friend named Charlie, who was the only black boy in the class. The boy's mother died of a sudden heart attack, and Astrid's grandfather brought the family a ham while the rest of the town was boycotting orphaned misery through a racial blind. Lawrence Hofferson always had a smile, a joke, a kind word and a moral framework.

Her grandma was the spark that cascaded into a forest fire. Four foot eleven and too brave, the origin of that famous bold chin and the family alcohol tolerance. Red-headed and stereotypically Irish to the point of a handicap.

Beautiful.

Astrid's seen too many pictures, and every time she sees too much of herself in that alabaster, pin-up face.

Her grandma died when she was three, and for a while, her parents took in her dog, a spoiled Irish setter named Cam. Cam wasn't trained, and he peed in the house all the time, she still remembers the stains on the old carpet from scrubbing that same spot in the hallway over and over. That's when her dad's drinking got bad, when he dabbled in harder drugs and sent his brain back to permanent adolescence.

That dog hated Astrid. He bit her twice in two months before her parents gave him away to an elderly couple who spoiled him through a long happy life.

She remembers being so happy when her mom quit work and could suddenly pick her up every day from fist grade. Looking back, it was an ultimatum to keep her mom _safe_ from the dangerous world, and out of sight. Still, those were the best years, when her afternoons were full of playing in the yard and everything went bad after she went to bed with her door shut tight.

Then she got old enough to notice the bruises, and old enough to talk back and earn occasional swings of her own. Old enough that she got herself yelled into corners over missed spelling words and lost soccer games. She blamed her mom for making him angry, even then she could see that it was out of his control.

Her dad yelling is inevitable, like minutes passing.

She thought her mom should fight. You have to stand up to bullies.

But that's how arms get broken.

She sits up, shoving her hair off of her face and swinging her legs off of the bed. She'll just go make some hot cocoa and watch movies until she drifts off on the couch.

Seeing Hiccup in the morning won't be too bad, will it? She won't want to kiss him or punch him anymore than she does right now, right? She'll be able to keep shoving him away when all she wants to do is pull him close.

It won't be as bad as Friday, when Heather left them all alone, and all she wanted to do was _hug_ him.

She hates this.

Or maybe she'll get lucky, and if he sees her sleeping, he'll silently retreat and keep their paths from crossing. It's horrible what constitutes luck these days.

Spike follows her out to the kitchen, and she pours a mug of milk, shoving it into the microwave and staring at the glass plate turning like her reeling thoughts. She jumps as Spike lurches up, woofing at a shadow. She whirls around, fists habitually raised.

A bed-headed, wide awake Hiccup stands in mock surrender in the doorway. She deflates like a popped balloon.

"So you couldn't sleep," she crosses her arms and leans back against the counter.

"You couldn't either?" He asks and she shrugs, eyes itching more than really makes sense. She knows every freckle on his arms, every scar on his hands, and he feels like a stranger.

"Guess not," she laughs miserably. "Cocoa?"

"Nah, I only drink stiff brandy at this time of night."

"If I had any brandy…well, I probably wouldn't share," she admits and he smiles just enough to make her heart ache like someone's stabbing at it.

"Sure, cocoa sounds good."

"You should put on a movie or something. If you're staying up," she shrugs, feigning nonchalance when she'd like nothing more than to curl up with him on the couch and hold on too tightly. "Cookie?" She offers a package of trusty Oreos that she pulls out from under the counter.

"You're going to try the couch?" He shakes his head at the offer and she stuffs three into her mouth, crunching too loudly.

"How'd you know?" she asks through a mouthful of crumbs, putting more milk into the microwave and stirring twice as much cocoa mix as is necessary into Hiccup's cup. She hands him the steaming mug and her entire arm lights on fire when their fingers brush against the ceramic.

"That's what you do, I know you," he shrugs and she can't help but watch him go. His bare foot sticks to the floor and his prosthetic drags a bit. She recognizes the sound and knows that he only has it buckled halfway. Like when she steps on the back of her running shoes, wearing them like clogs to jet outside and get the mail or something.

She wonders if he heard her get up and followed her out here. She wants to tell him everything. She wants to swallow it all forever.

She finishes making her own drink and follows him into the living room, curling up on her corner of the couch. He's across the room in a leather recliner, and the distance makes her want to scream.

"Do you?" She mumbles through a non-descript preview.

"Do I what?" He asks and she shrugs, looking at him pointedly. "Do I know you?"

"I guess."

"I tried," Hiccup sighs.

"Past tense?" She asks, even though she knows she has absolutely no right.

"I don't—you don't make it easy," he explains and she shrinks into the couch, sipping her cocoa and tugging a blanket over her lap. She's sleepier just looking at him.

She's got the distinct feeling that they aren't alone. That damaged, deformed _Astrid Hofferson_ is peering over her shoulder like a golden ghost, keeping her strong and keeping her _closed_.

"So what movie?" She gestures to the TV.

"Titanic," he smiles mildly, staring at his foot.

"You know I only like the sinking part," she laughs because it's easier than sobbing.

"But you can't stay awake through the beginning."

"You're trying to help me fall asleep," she bites her lip, touched.

"I love you."

"I love you too," she shoves aside the irrational nerves and lets her stubborn privacy rear its ugly head and stare him down. If she wants to solve this, he needs her to shatter them, he needs to move on to someone who isn't destroyed. But all she can do is crack _them_, otherwise she'll break down. "It's not enough right now, I wish it were enough."

"Me too."

"I—I mean," she stares at him too deeply, thinking of everything she can't say and imagining how awful it's going to be when he finally leaves her. She tells the residual _Astrid Hofferson_ energy lingering in her consciousness to fuck off. "Do you want to know why I hate Titanic?"

"Why?" He asks, torn between curiosity and being cautious for the surely flippant response.

"My mom," she exhales too hard grinds her teeth, struggling to let the ideas go. The lost ship on the TV is oddly fitting, and her personal exhumation reverberates through her brain as expressly forbidden. "I don't know if she was trying to teach me empathy or what, but she can't—couldn't watch a sad movie without commenting every two seconds. Saving Private Ryan. Titanic. Grapes of Wrath. Hell, Little House on the Prairie. Anything like that, anything where life was hard or anything. Just every few minutes, 'Imagine what it was like', 'Wow, what are they supposed to do', 'That's horrible!'," she laughs at the too strong memory, an errant tear winding down her cheek.

"I think that's the first I've heard you talk about her."

"God, and I'm telling you her worst habit. I promise," she groans in remembered frustration. "And she'd do this thing where she'd guess everyone's lines before they actually said them, and she was _always_—and I mean _always_ – wrong. Hell, she'd spend so much time commenting that she'd lose track of the story and I'd have to play catch up." Astrid wipes her determinedly leaking eyes, "Movie theaters were a nightmare."

"So I should blame her when you hit me during movies?"

"At least your commentary is funny," she grant shim, taking a gulp of her cooling hot chocolate. Spike groans quietly from her roost on the floor. "You never talk about your mom."

"I was seven, and it was icy. One of those freaky late March snows, you know?" he shrugs, wondering why he's choosing this particular story. "She drove too fast and I mean, the woman slammed on the brakes for squirrels. When the cops found the dog tracks across the road and the stray dog in a den on the median, everyone who knew her knew what happened." He stares at the ground.

"Hiccup, I—"

"Recently abandoned pitbull," he drives the nail in and feels ten pounds lighter. He wishes she'd tell him everything. He wishes he didn't have to guess the worst of her childhood every five minutes.

The silence is horrible.

"Why haven't we done this?" She asks, the big secret dropping like honey down the tip of her tongue.

'_My dad raped me'_

It'd be that easy. Four words.

She managed I love you, what's one more syllable?

Everything, apparently.

"Done what?"

"Talked like this," she steps closer to the proverbial fire, daring him to ask her. Trying to put the seed of the idea in his brain telepathically. Just flat out ask.

She'd answer, if he'd just ask.

"We were busy, and you didn't want to," he answers, matter of fact, and she falters. He's right, telling him is selfish. It's pawning off her misery to make herself feel better and Hiccup feel worse. She should have been able to handle it on her own, but she couldn't, because she traded that strength for the mysterious joy of loving Hiccup.

"Fair enough."

What she doesn't say echoes far louder than what she does.

"Go to sleep," he tells her, standing with an awkward, half-buckled shuffle. "Thanks for the cocoa."

"Tomorrow, this talk probably won't matter," she muses sadly and he shrugs.

"To you? I don't know, but I won't forget," he ensures her.

"It's not that I forget. It's that—you make me feel—I hate when we fight. I don't think I've ever been so mad at myself for being mad."

"Goodnight Astrid," he tells her, turning and walking back to bed. That's true, he can hear it in her voice, solid and trustworthy, vocal granite that makes walking away seem foolish. He wishes she could say that in the daylight when she's in her right mind.

Maybe she's nocturnal.

He'd flip his schedule if he thought that would help at all.

00000

The lack of sleep is catching up to Astrid the next day as she wipes her eyes, yawning and leaning back over her calculus book, determined. She doesn't need help, she understands series, and it's not like Hiccup is here anyway, so there's no point in asking.

He left that morning around eleven, probably to go hang out with Heather, and ever since she'd successfully avoided him, she's been camped out on the couch, her calculus notes spread around her in a miserable aura.

She understands this completely.

She knows exactly what she's looking at.

Everything she's doing makes sense.

She growls and throws a pencil at the wall, and Spike runs up and rests her chin in her girl's lap, wagging furiously in attempted comfort.

"I'm not good at this whole positive thing," Astrid nods slowly, stroking Spike's head and smoothing her ears against her boxy head. "That's your job, and even you're kind of cranky today." The pit climbs halfway onto Astrid's lap and rests her smooth forehead against the girl's shoulder.

Astrid smiles and hugs the dog embarrassingly tight, breathing in the mostly clean dog scent and trying not to cry. She met Spike because of Hiccup, she wouldn't have this sweet dog if not for Hiccup.

She'd be at home, insisting that she didn't feel bad for letting that girl limp through the finish line alone. Insisting she didn't feel bad about breaking some kid's arm for absolutely no reason. She'd be texting Scott, fielding that day's advances until he was so tired of asking, he'd settle for crumbs.

"Ok, ok," Astrid gently pushes Spike back onto the ground, leaning down and resting her forehead against the dog's and stroking at the scruff of her neck. "I've got to do my homework. But we're going somewhere tonight, so I promise you'll get a walk." The dog grumbles low in her throat. "A long walk, with Ruff's dog, ok? A long playful walk." She hugs Spike one last time before nudging her away. "So, let me do this, alright?"

Astrid can't believe she's leaving for World's so soon. It's Sunday, so that means she only has two days of school to deal with all of this. At least Spring Break is right after the race, so she'll have a week to—

Her homework spins out of focus as she realizes Spring Break has become something awful. She remembers the month before, planning with Hiccup on a too late school night, studying for some test she can't even remember taking. They were going to have pancakes every day, and spend an embarrassing amount of time curled up together on the couch, making out and stabbing each other with too bony elbows.

It feels like a death when she realizes that's gone down the drain with the rest of them.

She lays back on the couch, curling her knees towards her chest and using them to rest her calculus book upright. The symbols swirl into mysterious, cryptic runes and she shuts her eyes, sighing too loudly and trying to collect herself.

Her toes curl in some horribly useless notes at the end of the couch and she gives up entirely, curling into a ball around her open book and facing the dark-screened TV.

Hiccup always manages to be productive with the Discovery channel on or something, but she can never focus. She misses watching TV with him.

She misses everything about him.

She wonders if he misses her too. Is this hurting him as bad as it's hurting her?

He's probably just as miserable as she is. He's probably just as lonely and sad and—

Suddenly, Heather makes sense, absolutely perfect sense and she feels worlds worse. She's…well, she's a jock and most of her friends are jocks, and it was easy to retreat into Ruff's jock lair and step away from the situation. And Hiccup…well he could have gone to Fishlegs, but then Ruff would know everything he said…and then she'd know, and his privacy wouldn't even _exist_ anymore.

He's probably as lonely as she is. And as sad as she is.

He should move on with Heather, if that's what he wants. She should let go. She should try and let go.

But would that hurt him worse? Would that hurt him as much as it hurts her? Does he—Is he clinging to this shell of a broken relationship as hard as she is? He must be.

But if she told him—

Her train of thought is cut off by the door opening and Toothless unevenly plodding back into the room. Of course Hiccup follows, footsteps clicking and squeaking in time before he hits the carpet and the sound muffles in the thick shag.

And he wasn't with Heather, he was with Toothless. She feels impossibly worse.

She lets her eyes fall shut and pretends to be asleep at the last second, because well…she can't take some twisted continuation of last night's conversation. She can't take feeling so distant from him right now. She can't take looking into his eyes and seeing nothing but some unbelievably impenetrable wall between them.

Toothless trots around the couch and noses at her falsely limp hand hanging off onto the carpet.

"What's over there, bud," Hiccup walks around the couch and she hears him pause. "Come on, let her sleep," he urges, his voice quiet and sad. "Go lay with Spike…yeah, all the way. Come on, the _rest_ of the way…"

She resists the urge to laugh when Toothless sighs, plopping down on the living room dog bed next to a warbling Spike.

She waits for Hiccup to disappear.

She wishes he'd just move her notes and sit down by her curled up feet. And she'd wake up in an hour sprawled across him and everything would be ok.

She doesn't hear him move.

Just as she's assuring herself that he's gone and getting ready to sit up, the notes at the base of the couch rustle and she freezes.

He picks up the notes by her feet and on the armrest and the few sheets that have fallen onto the floor. She hears him knocking the stack on the end of the couch to align the sheets, and part of her laments her loss of organization as the same time as her entire chest tightens. He sets the notes down somewhere and sighs.

"Astrid?" The voice is quiet, and gentle and she doubles her resolve, completely slack as her hand brushes against the carpet. "This is a bad idea…" he mutters to himself before leaning down and trying to grab the calculus book tucked into the nook of her body. His knuckles brush up against her stomach through her tee-shirt and she bites her tongue to avoid gasping at that strange electricity transmitted from his hand.

He gently tugs the book away and she hears him tuck the notes into it before shutting the book and setting on the floor next to her hand. Her heart threatens to beat out of her chest when he reaches across the back of the couch and pulls the resident throw down, tugging it carefully up over her shoulders.

"That really doesn't look comfortable," he mutters, his fingers glancing across her awkwardly extended arm. "But…you'd have to help me fix it." Her heart drops through her stomach and it's nearly impossible not to yank back her hand. "Ok, let's go bud, and you too Spike. We should let her sleep." Hiccup walks away, patting his leg, and the two dogs lurch to their feet, following him down the hallway.

Astrid's shoulder starts to ache from the odd position after a few minutes of horrible stillness. She deserves the pain, she deserves this ache for all that she's putting him through.

No matter what she does, he's there. He's trying to take care of her, and he's…she's not worth it. She's abundantly sure that she's not remotely worth all this trouble.

But he still wants to fix her. He wants to help. He came in here and picked up her mess and covered her up and _tried_, honestly tried. The only thing he couldn't fix…she's holding her arm out with her whole body weight, forcing herself uncomfortable. And he can glance by it, touch on it, and leave her tingling.

He probes what's bugging her, and tries to fix all of those problems that she pointedly ignores.

She would happily sleep like this all night, and wake up with a horrible crick in her shoulder. She'd refuse to go to the chiropractor, and it'd fester and get worse and worse.

If she told Hiccup she had a problem, he'd ignore her punching and her blustering, and drive her to the doctor. But she wouldn't even have to tell him, he'd pick up on it. He'd know something was wrong, and he'd weasel it out of her.

And God, he's stubborn. He's so unbelievably stubborn. He's not going to stop asking, is he? He's going to keep nagging and nagging and pushing and prodding and—

She's either going to tell him, or push him impossibly further away. But if…if what just happened is any indication, pushing him away is going to hurt him. He's…he's the kind of guy who picks up her notes, and tries to make her comfortable, and does a million other things every day to tell her that he loves her.

He loves her even if she can't give him everything he wants. Even if she's crazy and demanding and violent.

It's going to do more than hurt him if this falls apart. It's going to demolish him. It's going to tear him up just as much as her, if not worse. She'll have her secret, pinned underneath her like an inconvenient arm, keeping her alive with the pangs.

He'll be alone.

He'll be stuck with Heather, and probably, if she's actually as lucky as she feels right now, thinking of his relationship and how it crumbled.

Right now, it seems so simple. She's choosing between being uncomfortable and letting someone in. She's choosing between privacy and Hiccup, and she knows the latter is better.

Hiccup is better than lonliness, and feeling loved makes her feel _safer_ than any empty room. She needs to let go of all this, for him, not for her. She just needs to tell him, so that he can…so that he can help her fix it.

Maybe it's not a big deal really, maybe it happens more than anybody lets on and there's a website she's too lazy to find. Maybe if he just had an hour, or a day, he could figure this all out and _fix_ it.

But then again, maybe he's finally learned when to run. Maybe he's finally acknowledged that some things, like his leg, are unfixable and gone forever. Maybe she's shattered, and no matter how much glue he wastes, he's never going to be able to stick it back together.

But it's better to just let him know, isn't it? It's better to just let him try and fix her.

Maybe it won't work, and the couch is just uncomfortable, and they'll give up.

Or maybe she'll sit up, and he'll sit down next to her, and suddenly that arm will find some comfortable place between them.

00000

"Hey," Astrid knocks on Hiccup's open bedroom door after an hour of pretend napping, and two in her bedroom pouring over physics, and he looks up from his laptop, jumping a bit.

"Oh, hey Astrid…" he sets his computer on the bed beside him and looks at her expectantly. She almost leaves, suddenly awkward as she holds up her uncompleted physics problem and steps slowly into the room. It _is_ more awkward in daytime, she kicks herself. "Hi, Astrid…"

She should have 'woken up' earlier. She should have said…something? Everything?

"Have you done the physics homework yet?" She asks, staring pointedly at Toothless napping on the foot of the bed. Anything is better than that ever-confusing eye contact.

"Isn't it due on Friday?" He says, slightly nervous and she nods.

"Yeah, but I'm leaving Tuesday after school so I'm getting it turned in early," she explains. The fact that she has to tell him this is a reminder of how painfully out of touch they are. He used to just _know_. They used to spend every minute together that they could. The worst part of starting track was missing driving home together, and now they commute to school in painful silence.

She misses talking to him. Just talking. Just letting words that she's not supposed to know spill out of her mouth and knowing that someone's listening. That someone cares.

She almost blurts the truth like vomit before frowning and taking an awkward half step towards him.

She should be tactful, shouldn't she? It's like saying 'I love you'—then again, she wasn't particularly subtle with that one…

"No, I haven't started it," he affirms and she sighs, turning to walk back to her bedroom. As she's passing through the door he calls out, stopping her. "I can look at it though, if you want." She stops, muttering nonsense under her breath and turning around, moseying back into the room, exaggeratedly casual. "Can I see the problem?" He asks and she bends over, handing him the paper from five feet away, arms stretching to cover the gap.

"If you don't know, it's fine." Why did she come down here anyway? This is just weird. She hates that it's weird. She'd give anything for this to be comfortable again.

If he were to ask what her problem is right now, she might just tell him. Even though it's daylight, and she's horribly exposed. Even if it might destroy them. Even though she's leaving so so soon.

She'd tell him.

"Give me a minute," he urges her, eyes tracing over her immaculate handwriting with inexplicable fondness. At least he can read her homework, it's not like a few weeks ago when Ruff asked for help and all of her g's looked obscene.

It's also fantastic just to have Astrid in the same room not presently glaring at him. It's like he's been persistently forgotten something, but the uncomfortable pressure of wondering about what exactly he's lost is gone in her presence. She's supposed to be here, with him.

That's the fact of it.

Seeing her sleeping on the couch was the most normal he's felt in days. Touching her, even if it was only accidental was…like coming home.

She struggles not to focus on the red glints in his hair. She tries not to notice the way his hands looks strong and steady where they hold her paper. She can't help but notice that he looks exhausted and as miserable as she feels.

She wishes he'd just _ask _her...she'd really tell him this time. She's not…she's not—the words won't come to her by herself. She needs the prod, she needs the shove.

If he asks, she'll really really tell him.

Really.

"Did I do anything stupid?" She asks after a too quiet minute, clearing her throat at the thin and reedy quality of her voice.

"Not that I'm immediately seeing…why do you think you've got a problem?" He follows her line of thought with the tip of his finger and wishes her live thoughts were so easy to read.

"Because my final answer is bigger than the speed of light?" She laughs humorlessly. She's been struggling with the same stupid problem for an hour.

It took her an _hour_ to come and ask Hiccup for help. Oh how the mighty have fallen.

"That would be an issue…" He smiles crookedly and her entire heart _throbs_. "Give me a minute, I'll check your algebra." He offers and she scoffs, the urge to run overpowering.

"What were you just doing?"

"Checking your method. Which is good, by the way."

"I've been practicing," she shrugs, abruptly honest. "I've had a little less help than normal."

"Yeah…" He scratches his head, "you can always come ask for help, you know?"

"I know." She mumbles sternly, and he ducks his head, reading her elegant work. The silence is murder.

He misses her laugh.

That's probably what he misses more than anything, her raucous, unrestrained, snorting laughter. It's the least ladylike thing he's ever heard, and up there with the most beautiful. The absolute best sound is probably the moan deep in her throat when he kisses the nape of her neck and she's not expecting it.

He flushes and looks down, staring too hard at her homework.

"Aha!" He points at the critical flaw. "Here, you squared the denominator in the formula, but not after you plugged in the values, see?" He shows her the sheet and she's forced to lean forward to read the equation. Surely enough, she's missing the minuscule, neat exponent.

"Of course," she laments with a sardonic grin. "Can I see your calculator?" She gestures to the bed and Hiccup shrugs his assent, handing it to her. He's too excited when their fingers brush and he frowns when she jerks away.

Does she want him to corner her? Because that's pretty much the only way he ever gets this close.

Like yesterday morning when the door was locked and he let her in after her run. The way that she alternated staring at his face and his chest, analyzing a way through with anxious, almost pleading eyes. He should have hugged her then, and awkwardly stepping aside and waving her through like a bellhop did nothing for his case.

He should have kissed her so hard she forgot her own name.

But then the nagging insincerity comes back like the plague.

Kissing her won't fix anything. Until he knows _why_ she was so upset, everything is broken.

Chasing after her is futile, weak. It's enforcing the incorrect idea that she's his _commander_ not his partner.

Or last night? When she was practically an open book in front of him? He could have just asked her. He could have asked her what's wrong, and why she's acting like this. He can see in her eyes that she at least has an idea.

She needs to tell him, needs to trust him. Or nothing will ever get better.

God, what is wrong with him that he'll give up on Astrid Hofferson rather than just go along with whatever nonsense she comes up with? It kills to think that the reason he's not making out with her is that he _loves_ her. And if she doesn't let go of her too tight grip on reality, he's afraid he'll be stuck with the Astrid Hofferson he always idolized, not the one who he actually knows.

She takes his calculator, shaking fingers fumbling the equation twice before she types it in correctly, smiling to herself when the answer comes up as a completely reasonable 10 to the sixth power.

"Did that work out?" Her smile is blinding, it's been too long since he's seen it. He glances towards the picture of them above his dresser, feeling far beyond obvious. Of course she's not even smiling in the picture, instead frowning at him in that delightfully expressive way.

It's…heart-wrenching.

Considering weeks ago he was thinking about how they'd make this work going to college, and now they can't look each other in the eye. And last week, the blurb where it seemed like it might be alright. Two days of near desperate bliss in a sea of worry.

"Yeah, it's the answer in the back of the book," she explains, with a small smile. She hands him his calculator, fumbling it slightly and grinning relieved when he catches it. "Sorry."

"It's ok," he sets it on the bed beside him, stopping to scratch Toothless's back as he looks back at Astrid. "Glad I could help."

"Me too…" she trails off, checking her watch and pointing over her shoulder with a thumb. "Well, I've got to go. I have a lot to get done between…well, now and a half hour from now," she sighs, exasperated.

"What's happening a half hour from now?" he pounces on the opportunity and her feet feel frozen in cement. She frowns and answers slowly.

"Ruff and I are hanging out." She sighs, rubbing her eyes and pushing her bangs out of her face.

"What are you guys doing?"

"A night hike, last time we talked," she laughs lightly, avoiding eye contact for the sake of momentary comfort. The superficiality is nice, not particularly rewarding, but nice.

"It's February."

"Late February," she defends and Hiccup shakes his head at her.

"It's barely twenty degrees out," he can't help the vice clamping around his chest. "And a night hike? Where are you guys going?"

"Lookout Mountain, not that it's _any_ of your business," Astrid snaps, oddly gratified that he sounds like he legitimately cares.

"Is a night hike exactly a good idea?"

"Well, Ruff's parents are home, where else are we supposed to enjoy the pre-World's booze she procured…"

"So wait, you're going out on a hike, at _night_, with _Ruff_, and _alcohol_, in _February_?" He asks and she shrugs, pointedly nonchalant.

"Sounds about right."

"On a school night?" He asks absurdly and she nods. "And none of that seems incredibly smart to me."

"It's not smart," she admits callously, and the urge to climb on his lap and kiss him is completely overwhelming.

"You're very smart."

"Don't compliment me," she snaps, crossing her arms and feeling more alive than the last time they fought. The only thing that could make this better would be—well, that's out of the picture, no point in thinking about it.

"I don't like the idea of this hike," he asserts with a faked nonchalant shrug.

"When exactly did that become your business?" She asks.

"I—what if there are bears?" He suggests and she laughs.

"They're hibernating. And plus, bears are diurnal." She throws the line at him, remembering probably their only hike together.

"What?"

"Come on, you're the one who told me that." Her grin falls, "don't you remember?"

"Er…yes?" He lies, before it comes back to him and suddenly he's willing to trek to the shed on his back forty just to reignite some of that. Maybe they could huddle for warmth.

Or he could withhold his warmth until she told him what is going on in her stupid, beautiful, lovable, blonde head.

She ignores the flash of remembrance in his eyes in order to maintain her indignance.

"Of course you do." She blurts, before checking her watch again, projecting urgency. "I've got to go…"

"Astrid, this isn't a good idea—"

"Again, when did this become your business?" She snaps.

"It's my business because you're my girlfriend."

"We're on a _break_," the proclamation is deafening and she immediately regrets it, crossing her arms. "But…thank you for your concern."

"That's diplomatic of you," he snarks.

"I'm bringing Spike, I'll be fine."

"Spike's not going to stop you from falling and breaking your leg," he offers and she rolls her eyes.

"If I break my leg…" She'll be here all week with him. He can help her shower. He can make sure she actually takes painkillers. "You can say I told you so."

"Right, and that's such a consolation for you freezing on a mountain." She tries to hide her grin.

"I've got two pounds still to lose before Worlds anyway…less weight more speed," she says like a jargon, and Hiccup rolls his eyes.

"We both know you started trimming down when we erm…" he fumbles for the word, confused, "started this break."

"I've been putting in 70 mile weeks. It's normal," she defends.

"I think you're stressed about something," he hedges and she freezes. "Maybe—I don't know, maybe it'd help if you talked about it or something. With me. Or with someone else. I don't know." He babbles and she stares at him wide eyed and frozen.

It's the shot. She should just _tell_ him. Tell him everything.

"You're right." She starts, her tongue impossibly heavy in her mouth, "I—" She needs to talk to him. She needs to…gah, how would she even begin to say this. Hey, she could just blurt it out. Take the old standby and charge into it head on. She chokes on the absurd words pooling in the base of her throat and coughs, averting her eyes to the floor. "It's Worlds. They're big."

"You're going to be fine," he assures her, wishing he were standing.

"I—" she pauses, checking her watch and looking at the door. Leaving is the last thing she wants to do. "I've got to go, I've still got another problem to do before I head out."

"Do you want help?" He offers quietly, and before she knows it, she's sitting on the bed beside him, accepting a notebook to use as a lap desk as graciously as she can and showing him the last problem silently. He's eerily close looking over her shoulder and she can feel his breath against the side of her neck.

The warmth returns, low in her stomach and she freezes, back straightening.

"So…how do I start this…" her voice is too quiet, far too quiet.

"Ok, this one isn't so bad. It's just the standard V equals k q over r," he starts and she writes obediently. She hates how the numbers make more sense just sitting here, with the too warm aura surrounding Hiccup practically _steaming_ her side.

She misses him so much it's like a punch to the chest.

"Oh! And then I solve for q and plug it into this equation?" She asks, pointing at the given equation in the problem and he smiles, gap-toothed and glorious.

"Exactly," he hands her his calculator and she scoots back on the bed, crossing her legs and carefully entering in the calculations.

"Do you have your book?"

"Yeah, it's in my backpack," he mumbles, bending over and pulling the hefty text out of his bag. She pointedly looks away from the way his shirt rides up his narrow ropey back, the pale six inches of freckled skin mysteriously alluring. He hands her the book and she silently flips to the answer page, smiling to herself when the answer is correct.

"Thanks," she writes down the number, neatly boxing it in and standing, pointedly ignoring the way she subconsciously leans towards him on the way up.

'_My dad did more than just hit me.'_

It should be easy. She should just _tell_ him.

"And you're still determined to go?" He asks, more than a little concerned.

"My dad—" she starts, her voice sounding remarkably strange over the din of her frantic heartbeat. "Never mind."

"What?" He asks, sitting up straighter.

"Nothing."

"You said something about your dad?"

"No, I didn't." She flushes fuchsia, checking her watch and spinning in a tight circle, flustered. "Look, I've got to go. Ruff—I—Do you want me to check in when I get home?" She offers, and the image of crawling into bed with him and curling up, so unbearably _warm_ floods her mind.

"I'd rather you not go." Maybe if she stayed, they'd talk.

Her resolve to leave doubles.

"I'm going. So…check in or no?" She reiterates, her throat shockingly thick.

"Yeah, that'd make me feel better."

"Ok. So…" She stares down at her homework, thumbing the edge of the paper and glancing up at too green eyes, feeling two inches tall. "I'll see you later, I guess."

"Yeah. Later."

He could come up with a million horrible things that are making her this upset and _wrong_, but it's seems like a violation. He's stuck staring at the door.

00000

Schedule of events to this point:

Friday, 2/14 – Valentine's Day

Monday, 2/17 – Blind Side with Ruff, Meet Heather at Prosthesist

Tuesday, 2/18 – Push-up bra premier, Dinner with Jerry, Bowling with Heather

Wednesday, 2/19 – Knock out Tuff's tooth

Thursday, 2/20 – Talk with Scot Nout

Friday, 2/21 – Inhaler adventure

Saturday, 2/22 – Angry Make-out, Fishlegs at Home Depot

Sunday, 2/23 – Video Games with Heather

Monday, 2/24 – Stay home from school and make-up

Tuesday, 2/25 – Heather drops by for Research, Talk with Gobber

Thursday, 2/27 – The infamous bending incident, Lesbian relations with Ruff

Friday, 2/28 – Official 'break', Empathetic Track meet, Movie with Heather

Saturday, 3/1 – Sex Talk with Fishlegs, Nighttime talk

Sunday, 3/2 – Couch "napping", Night Hike with Ruff

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**So, I hope that schedule helps put everything in perspective, I'll continue updating it with all my following chapters. **

**And I really really love this chapter. It's gone through a lot of incarnations, but I'm loving it a lot, and I'd really love to hear what you all think of it. Also, thanks to Midoriko-sama for the amazing idea, and I hope I did it justice. **

**Thank you all for your reviews! I know that it's a difficult and busy time of year, and it means more than you all know that you took the time to tell me how I'm doing here. And Lionheart, I have a schmancy kitchen-aid now, no stirring required. **


	15. Chapter 15

**I'm just going to pre-apologize. The final edit on this was done by a drunk person. Namely me. **

**Sometimes babysitting four children for extra money, really isn't worth the extra money, and that extra money turns into whiskey. And the whiskey probably turns into adverbs, if we're honest. **

**Also, as for posting schedule here, I want you all to enjoy new years with family and friends, like I will hopefully be doing if my boyfriend's dogs stop needing a nurse. So, anyway, I'm going to do a similar adjustment as I did for Christmas, and the next chapter will be on Thursday! **

**That being said, I feel like y'all are impatient for them to make up so that they have sex, so I'm going to do my best to get a wonderful lemon that I ended up not being able to work into this story up as a New Year's present for those of you who care. I hope that I can name it wittily. Anyway, look for that before Thursday! **

00000

"It's fucking freezing!" Ruff chatters, rubbing her arms through the thick sleeves of her winter coat.

"It's midnight. In the Winter. In Colorado." Astrid rolls her eyes and Spike looks up at her, trotting carefully at her heels. Ruff's dog runs frantic circles, snapping at piles of half melted snow clinging to tree bark.

"Barf-face, calm down!" Ruff orders and the dog bows into play pose before barking and sprinting to goad Spike. The older dog sighs and trots away, running with her friend reluctantly. Astrid walks up along-side Ruff, feeling short but sure-footed beside the other girl.

If she's not stumbling yet, they have a problem.

"Insulting your dog won't make it listen," she urges and Ruff laughs.

"It is fun though," the girl chuckles lowly as her pit rams headfirst into a tree, jumping up dazed and sprinting back to the path. "And she's not hurting anything," Ruff offers Astrid the still mostly full bottle of whiskey and accepts the flashlight, illumination ahead bobbling as they trade.

Astrid takes a swig, hissing as she swallows. She can't get Hiccup's face out of her mind.

"I'm fucked up, aren't I?" She asks, taking another chug and laughing humorlessly.

"Pretty much," Ruff says almost gently and Astrid scowls at her.

"You don't have to be so delicate about it," she kicks a chunk of ice off of the path and looks forward at Spike running through almost too deep snow. "Like seriously, just tell me that I'm being a drama queen or something."

"But you're not," Ruff rolls her eyes, too smart to ask for the bottle back as Astrid takes another swig. It burns less as the flashlight seems brighter, more irresistibly enigmatic against the stark lines of the midnight trees.

"Earlier Hiccup was being nice to me," Astrid admits, almost ashamed.

"That sounds like a good thing."

"No, not nice as in _normal_, it was just…pleasant," she frowns, wishing she were back on his bed blurting out everything she can't say. "Like he'd only spit out half his sentence."

"Maybe he's trying to help," Ruff shrugs, biting her own sharp tongue. Astrid stops walking abruptly and glares at her, defiantly taking another sip from the bottle.

"Earlier he came home, and I was doing homework…but I didn't want to talk to him," Astrid admits. "And I pretended to be asleep and he did the whole 'good guy cover me with a blanket' thing." Ruff hisses.

"That's rough—I mean it's sweet."

"Right, sweet." She pushes her bangs off of her face. "Completely, horribly sweet." Astrid continues, chewing on her lip. "And I don't deserve him at all, and—I wish he'd yell at me, you know? I wish he'd just scream at me that I'm being a bitch and—I almost wish he'd just ask me the truth so I'd have to tell him."

"Astrid, you need to tell him no matter what," Ruff insists quietly and Astrid rolls her eyes.

"Either I tell him, and he's this _pleasant_ with me forever, or he runs away. I need to deal with this, on my own."

"Astrid, I'm sure he'll figure something out—"

"You're being pleasant too."

"Sometimes my mind-bogglingly good looks cover up what a decent person I am," Ruff sasses lamely and Astrid rolls her eyes. She snatches the flashlight back and hands over the bottle, shining the bulb at the ground and staring out at the woods. She sees a raccoon, small and scuttling between fallen logs almost unseen, sneaking between one hiding spot and the next.

It's fast.

She blames imagined shitty night vision when it blurs.

"Being a decent person doesn't mean saying nice things like you care about my feelings," Astrid snarls and Ruff backs up, raising her eyebrows.

"You're my friend, of course I care about your fee—"

"Come on, don't try and feed me that crap. If I wanted that kind of advice, I'd see a shrink."

"Maybe you should," Ruff suggests, almost meekly and Astrid stomps her foot, her toes rebounding sloppily off of the ice.

"You do know that I'm the exact same, right?" Astrid asks, doing her best to sound wildly condescending and failing as the end of her sentence falls flat in the too honest night air. "I'm not crazy. I'm not—Something shitty happened, and plenty of people get over it without—When Hiccup lost his leg, all these doctors kept on trying to pump him full of psychiatric drugs, and I don't want that."

"I don't—"

"I mean this all happened months ago, months before I told you," Astrid bites her lower lip. "And you wonder why I don't tell anyone. Because this happens. Tell me the truth. Tell me I'm being insane and that I should just go jump Hiccup."

"I would never tell you to jump Hiccup," Ruff grins rakishly. "He'd fall over, and you'd probably break him again."

"No shit," Astrid grins at the other girl's tone. It's familiar and crude, and wonderfully freeing.

"And have you considered that he's being nice because he's sick of fighting?" Ruff asks and Astrid glares at her through the settling haze of alcohol.

"He's pretty good at it."

"I don't know, he does stop in the middle of fighting to make out with you," Ruff grins lecherously and Astrid snorts.

"He's good at that too."

Ruff laughs, raising a hand to her mouth and Astrid joins in, almost giggling as the dark seems a little less oppressive. They start walking again, following their dogs' frantic playing on the path ahead.

"If he's done taking every cheap shot you give him—" Ruff dodges a hastily thrown punch before drinking and continuing. "He's probably about to try and make amends."

"Why is that his job?" Astrid wonders aloud, somehow terrified of what amends means. Terrified of the cycle that amends will inevitably throw her into.

She'll be able to squelch the horror next time, right? Now that she knows it's coming.

"Because you weren't born with that humility thing," Ruff shoulders her friend and Astrid teeters, grabbing a tree to stay up right. She aims to kick Ruff in the calf and misses, giggling dumbly over nothing and pushing off.

"I've never needed it."

"Anyway, he's going to approach to make amends, and what are you going to do?" Ruff asks rhetorically, voice too loud as the whiskey bottle starts to swish audibly. "You're going to tell him everything."

"You know, I still think it's best for him if he just…stops trying with me," she admits honestly, the lubricated truth slipping out before she can stop it. "I mean, I'm not exactly…a catch." Astrid admits too quietly, suddenly painfully insecure about…everything.

She's _wrong, _defective. The torn clothing Goodwill throws away instead of putting on the shelves for everyone to dig through.

"Yeah, and I still think that he should decide what's best for him."

"He's an idiot, he doesn't know," she juts her jaw forward, chewing on the inside of her cheek.

"Hiccup is not an idiot, no matter how much he acts like one."

"Earlier I thought he was going to…" Grab her. Kiss her. Do something. Anything.

"Give him a chance, it only took him three years to get up the nerve to talk to you the first time," Ruff teases and earns herself a caustic glare.

"Yeah, but he hasn't stopped since," Astrid laughs miserably. "I miss him talking. I miss kissing him good night, and holding his hand. I even miss listening to all of his boneheaded theories and being forced to watch _Star_ _Trek_." She wipes a hand over her face dramatically.

"Star Trek?" Ruff shakes his head. "You are gone."

"It's not so bad…most of the time," she laughs. "I mean, it's pretty cute how into it he gets."

"Ugh, drink more!" Ruff shoves the bottle into Astrid's hand. "We are not out here to moon over Hiccup. We are here so that we can celebrate you kicking international ass."

"To Worlds?" Astrid proposes, raising the bottle to Ruff's imaginary drink. This swig is the least bitter of them all and she hisses, taking another gulp for posterity. "I'm going to be so hung over tomorrow."

"Hiccup can hold your hair," Ruff jokes, stumbling over nothing. Astrid punches her in the arm and stares at her toes, suddenly miserable. They can talk about it all they want, but the one person she actually needs to work this out with makes her clam up like a siphon filled with rubber cement.

"Do you think this is—" Astrid clears her throat. "Do you think this is as shitty for him as it is for me?"

"Of course it is," Ruff shrugs.

"I don't want it to be shitty for him," Astrid admits, taking a deep drink and fiddling with the end of her messy braid. "It's killing me—It's—I realized how miserable he must be earlier. I've got you, but he's alone, except for _Heather_, and it's…"

"He can always talk to Fish."

"But no he can't!" The shorter girl stomps emphatically. "He can't, because Fish will tell you, and you'll tell me, and—He's making me choose."

"Choose between what?"

"Keeping this secret, and _him_."

"What about white fang?" Ruff tries valiantly to avoid smirking and fails. "I thought you were kicking him for his own good or whatever?"

"I'm a bitch, but I—I can't do that. I want to…but it feels…it's like breaking his arm again."

"Astrid, you've never actually been a bitch."

"That's what Hiccup says," Astrid smiles too wide, eyes itching. "I'm just about done dragging this out, you know?"

"Yeah, I think we're all a little sick of it too," Ruff shrugs and Astrid glares at her. The taller girl shrugs, nonchalant and reclaims the bottle, taking a sip and looking innocently at her friend.

Astrid sighs.

"I'm starting to think we're over, Ruff."

"What do you mean?" The taller girl almost snarls, hating everything about the complacent statement.

"I mean…Hiccup and I are…" Astrid shoves her bangs off of her face, studiously tucking them underneath her hood. "What if he and I are going different directions, and we passed each other, and it was great, and now I should let it go?" She rambles, tongue loose in her mouth.

"That's ridiculous."

"No, it's not. What if it was…you know, just a high school relationship?" Astrid tries and fails to convince herself, staring at the ground like it must mean something.

"If you really think that, why are you asking it like a fucking question?" Ruff snorts and Astrid slaps her on the arm, frowning.

"I'm just…entertaining the idea."

"It's a stupid idea."

"No, Ruff, it's not. No one marries their high school _sweetheart_ these days. There's no such thing as a soul mate. It's just whoever you meet when you're ready, and I'm obviously not ready yet," Astrid snaps, reluctantly plowing ahead. "I don't see why Hiccup should have to deal with this, and I don't want to worry about _losing_ him the entire time I deal with this. If it's falling apart, why can't I just let it? Why does it have to be a fucking uphill marathon?"

"Come on," the taller girl frowns. "You're Astrid Fucking Hofferson, you don't let stuff happen to you."

The confidence is inspiring.

"Thanks Ruff."

"If you want him, go get him," she suggests and Astrid stops, staring ahead.

That…

That lost feeling when you forget what needs to be said right as it's coming out floods her and she stares into the bark of a nearby tree, hoping to look past the comic strip flashing behind her eyes. This is awfully…complacent, isn't it? It really is absolutely giving up if she just lets everything fall apart.

She can push her relationship apart, and she's good at that. She's good at stabbing Hiccup in his sensitive spots, but she can't help but think that he's better. He knows her too well, she's too attached and conjoined. It's like they share a liver, and if she pulls away from him for too long, her blood becomes hot poison under her skin, and he reels her back in like a magnet.

Or she can suck it up and _get_ him. She can make him know that she still wants him, even if it's hard. Even if it's not fun, even if it's an uphill battle, she _wants_ him.

She's happier with him.

She'll tell whatever lies she needs to, perpetuate whatever secrets keep him close.

Being contained and with Hiccup is better than being at loose ends without him. She'd rather know him than herself any day.

What if that third option still exists, that third perfect option to contain herself and keep them going until she feels comfortable? What if she doesn't have to say it?

It's worth one more shot for that perfection, isn't it?

"You're…Yeah. We should head back." Astrid nods, turning on her heel. "You're still sober, right?"

"Psh, I'm not sober," she laughs and Astrid's eyes widen.

"How are we going to get back?"

"What time is it?" Ruff asks and Astrid checks her watch, frowning. Hiccup is definitely asleep by now, and no pertinent talking is going to happen if she's contending with his sleepy eyed extreme warmth.

"Almost 1."

"By 2:30, I should be good," Ruff laughs, obviously unperturbed. "I did let you have most of this, give me _some_ credit."

"I'll give you credit when you don't get us stranded on a mountain," Astrid snarks before laughing in spite of her ire.

"Jesus we could have just gone hiking on Hiccup's own personal _estate_," Ruff suggests, rolling her eyes and Astrid frowns.

"Right, and I could see my favorite shed—"

"You have a favorite shed?"

"Nevermind," Astrid cuts her off, suddenly laughing. Her mind is pinging around insanely and she focuses, determined with smile frozen on her face. She's going to go get him. She doesn't know if it's the alcohol talking, or some inner strength not yet washed out by annoying tears, but she's going to plow on and bury this problem with loving Hiccup.

"Since when is being stranded funny?"

"Hiccup was totally right," she shakes her head.

"Isn't that a bitch?" Ruff consoles her, laughing as she whistles through her fingers, calling the dogs to run past them as they turn around and start the long downhill trudge back to the car.

00000

It's three, and the whiskey bottle is significantly lighter by the time Ruff pulls into Hiccup's long winding driveway, and Astrid grins, the closest to carefree that she's been for weeks.

"Hiccup told me to go check in," Astrid frowns, tapping her fingers on the car door handle and staring at the front door like it's threatening to bite her.

"Then go, before you barf all over my car."

"I'm not even that drunk," Astrid laughs, almost slurring. "My metabolism is insane."

"Yeah, or you really needed the drink," Ruff grins, yawning. "And if I don't get to bed soon, I'm probably going to murder someone tomorrow, so unless you're shelling out for the lawyer…"

"See you tomorrow," she climbs out of the car, fumbling with her keys.

"If you can get up in the morning," Ruff laughs.

"Right," Astrid grins, waving more cheerfully than feels natural as she trots almost gracefully up to the front porch, letting herself in and halting in the silent entryway. Not even Spike runs out to greet her, and she sighs, toeing off her shoes and dropping her jacket on the floor when the hook proves too difficult.

The hallway feels louder than normal, but the echoes of her own footsteps are indistinguishable as she almost stumbles towards Hiccup's open door. She stops in the shadow of his doorframe, staring inside and chewing on her lower lip, debating whether it's worth it to wake him up.

He'll see her in the morning, they'll drive to school together like always.

He doesn't need to worry about her. She's fine. He should trust that she's fine.

Part of her almost likes that he worries about her. He doesn't need to, and it's ridiculous, but…it makes her feel like she's _home_.

She trips over a shoe or something walking into the room and pauses beside his bed, reaching out and almost touching him. He's curled up, facing the wall, and she remembers when he used to sleep sprawled out like a starfish. She wonders if he's curled up because of her, and if it's because he's imagining she's with him.

Or is it because his heart sometimes feels like it's going to fall out of his chest, and the only way to hold himself together is to curl into the tiniest ball possible.

She can relate to either scenario.

Her hand lands on his shoulder, and she shakes him gently. He unfurls and raises a hand to his face, rubbing his eyes and squinting up at her.

"Hey, I'm home," she mumbles, suddenly feeling far drunker than should be possible.

"Is it late or early?" He grumbles, scooting to the other side of the bed and leaving a three foot wide expanse of sheets that might as well say 'welcome' in strobe light letters. She bites her lip, and her feet are suddenly cold, yearning for the warmth under that blanket.

"Very early," she laughs, and gravity tilts on its axis, dragging her down towards the bed. Her balance strains against the pull and she fumbles with her jacket zipper, rocking on unsteady feet as she stares at his slowly blinking eyes and the shadow of stubble along the corner of his jaw.

"Thanks for checking in," he rolls onto his side, arms stretched out in front of him like they're already primed to wrap around her. She shivers, the persecuted south pole of a magnet looking north.

"I—" She starts, before realizing anything she says is practically incriminating. The break is stupid. The break is a wreck. She wants to make-up.

She wants to kiss every freckle on his chin.

She wants to curl up under the covers and never leave.

"What?" he grumbles, yawning, and she wishes he weren't so…enticing. Irresistible. Momentarily untouchable.

She doesn't like rules anymore, doesn't like being boxed in now that she's out.

"I—" She tries again, groaning angrily to herself when the words jam in her throat like splinters. "I'm sort of drunk."

"Ok?"

"I just—"

"I'm too tired to talk right now," Hiccup sighs, holding the blanket sleepily in her direction. She swallows, sleepy and heavy, bravery chemical in her veins. "Are you staying, or not?"

"We're on a break," she says, failing to be affronted.

"I don't care," he continues, forever pushing her buttons like it's a sport.

"You should."

"I don't."

"Just tonight," she unzips her jacket and shoves it off, crawling clumsily under the covers next to him in her jeans, shivering almost violently as the warmth seeps into her skin. His arm rests across her ribs like a missing link and she exhales dramatically as she melts into the bed, curling into him like an orbit.

"Ok," he mumbles, nuzzling against her cotton clad shoulder and holding her too close.

"Seriously," she insists through a yawn.

"Ok," and it's too _right_ to talk anymore. It's worth it, worth the lying, worth the pain, worth the danger, to lay here and feel so safe.

00000

Astrid groans as her watch beeps irritably. It feels like something heavy is sitting on her head, and her temples throb like explosion is imminent as she fumbles with her wrist, clumsily turning off the alarm. A we dog tongue slurps at her fingers and she slides her hand up to pat Spike's smooth head. When her fingers tangle in long coarse fur, she squints her eyes open and sees Toothless attentively resting his chin on the side of Hiccup's bed.

In Hiccup's room.

Why the hell is she in Hiccup's room?

She sits up, instantly regretting the quick motion as her stomach churns violently. Hiccup's arm tightens around her waist and she pries it off, almost panicking as she sets it carelessly on the bed next to him.

He squints and yawns, sleep blurry eyes cracking open. He almost smiles, before remembering just how unpredictable this probably is. She's staring at him, torn between confusion and anger and he flinches back from her fixed glare.

"Er, good morning?" He grumbles after a moment of silently absorbing her stare.

"Why am I here?" She spits, angry that her head hurts more when he's not touching her.

"You came in here when you got home last night?" He tries to jog her memory and she cocks her head, her eyes searing and accusatory. "You were drunk."

It's like cold fusion, so much barely veiled fire beneath an icy blue glaze.

Not that cold fusion is even cold…if he were this close to a cold fusion reaction, he'd be minutes past vaporized.

Part of him wishes she'd vaporized him while he was still sleeping, and he could've died happy.

"Obviously," she cringles at a beam of light peeking through the blinds as she swings her legs off of the bed, building up the willpower to stand. "Jesus, how drunk was I?" She groans and hangs her head, rubbing at her sandy eyes.

She was drunk enough to crawl into bed with Hiccup. Drunk enough to give into her stupid, girlish whims that don't help anyone. Fucking Ruff, she probably planned to get Astrid so fucking wasted that she would cave, throwing away all that distance that lets her feel semi-normal.

"You were _nice_," Hiccup gripes, early morning grouchy as he tries to get comfortable on the suddenly rock hard mattress without her.

"So pretty wasted then," she frowns, petting Toothless' insistent head and staring at her treacherous watch that's saying they have to leave in half an hour.

"If that's what it takes for you to be nice," he grumbles and she almost punches him in the hip before the taboo nature of contact slaps her in the face. She springs too quickly to her feet, tottering as nausea, embarrassment, and fury hit all at once.

"The fuck is your problem?" She snarls, and the rage feels better than her other options.

"Here we go again," he groans, staring through her and making her feel about six inches tall.

"If you don't want me to fight with you, stop being an ass," her voice is too loud, echoing in her woozy ears like this ever pointless fight rebounds in her brain.

"I asked you to tell me you weren't dead, not climb into bed with me." He could mention that he did want her to stay, but the words rebel against acting like a sentence. "Not that climbing into bed with me—I mean—why—If you're so mad at me—"

"It doesn't really seem like you stopped me," she cuts him off, dead quiet, her head throbbing in time with the pulsing walls.

"Right, and telling you what to do always works out so well for me," he rolls his eyes, only feigning sleepiness at this point, and she frowns.

"Did you want me to stay?"

He wonders how much the truth would fix, or if it's just be throwing shotgun shells on the fire, giving the third party fight ammunition against them. He's sick of getting burned.

"Aren't we on a break?" Her face falls, false hope she didn't realize she was harboring shattering on the floor.

"Yeah, we are."

"Any idea how long this break is going to last?" He groans, sitting up and hanging his mismatched feet over the side of the bed. She can't see anything past the despair in his expression. She wishes it didn't make her so angry. Wishes she felt compassion or apology, anything but the urge to slug him and scream that she loves him until the words lose the rest of their meaning.

Every time they pretend they're ok for five minutes, they fall further apart for ten.

"As long as it needs to," she shrugs, face fall calmer than her churning brain.

"What if I don't want a _break_?" He says too quietly, unsure whether he's trying to fix something, or impulsively smash it the rest of the way.

She freezes, mulling the dual meaning over in her mind. They could call it right now, maybe even be friends once looking at him stops hurting. They tried, they fought, there's no shame in bowing out, is there?

Even though it'd be best for him, ending this is the most horrible thing she can imagine. But her secret would be intact. It'd stay close to her chest, bundled against her like a poison apple she hasn't quite eaten yet.

She could tell him right now. She could let everything fly. It'd be dropping anchor, cranking a steering wheel, it might even redirect them from their demise.

She does have an option here. She could change this fork in the road. Powerful words well in her throat and she tries to imagine his face falling slack and surprised as she tells him everything.

They would be so late for school.

She could accept his confusing threat as a misguided Olive Branch and consent to a metaphorical strip search. If she lays it all out there, he'll put together pieces she hasn't even seen yet. She knows he'll make more sense of it than she can.

But the truth could make him run. She could tell the truth and lose him along with her sanity. She could end up thrust into the waiting arms of greedy doctors, labeling her with all sorts of psychosis, when all she needs is an emotional amputation.

He could _hate_ her for not telling him.

The truth could demolish whatever trust is left.

What if he learned the bomb he thought was diffusing is still ticking, still meddling with them beneath the surface? He wonders if he'd blame her for the toxic air, for all the destruction the silence has done.

She wonders if talking could fix it.

Then again, she's not sure she can take being laid out in front of him like the Sunday paper. It was bad enough when he read the front page. She can imagine forcing him face to face with everything awful she can think of. He'd know about every fight she didn't win. Every hit she took, every bit of her dignity she sacrificed to hold together.

He'd never see her the same way again.

She's breathing too hard, and she's been staring at him so long that he doesn't even look real anymore. It's like an impressionist painting, blobs and dots of color floating in front of a canvas and tricking her mind into searching out patterns and shapes in nothing. He's like stained glass, transparent but influential like she'll never be, tinting light that permeates, creating a unique shadow behind him.

It's the play she should make. It's the only offense she has, and the only defense she hasn't tried.

"My dad," she blurts, eyes wide as she's breathing too hard. "He…he…" she tries, the words not quite English in her brain. "I…I was—Ugh!" She hates how her tongue refuses to cooperate, a lump of useless paste flopping in her mouth like a shitty plaster patch.

"Your dad what?" Hiccup prods, frustration momentarily forgotten as she flails like a drowning victim behind her eyes.

"He…" Hiccup probably doesn't want to know. Who would _want_ to know? It's horrible and disgusting, better ignored, better internalized. It's none of his business, and he's lucky. Who is she to take that away? She sighs bitterly and settles for a snarling half-truth, backing down with the rationality she has left. "He really fucked me up. I don't know how to do this, and learning is hard. You're probably right." She bites her lip as he stares at her, too smart brain working too fast, dissecting her like a carburetor without even laying her down first.

"Astrid, I—" And he's kind, too close to nice. Feeling cared for, even for a moment is excruciating everywhere her nerve endings haven't laid flat.

"Save dumping me for after worlds," she instructs hollowly, too calm and foreign to her own ears. "I don't need that right now. I need to focus."

"I don't want—"

"Look!" She snaps, lungs quivering like moth wings too close to a lamp. "I—you're right, ok? You're right, just give me a week. Seriously, just a week. Don't make me ask again."

She turns and leaves before he can respond, knees shaking as she shuts herself in the bathroom. She splashes freezing water on her face until her lips are blue and as numb as she wishes the rest of her could be.

00000

Losing Hiccup is…impossible. Terrifying and horribly inevitable.

The past months have just been…right. And of course she only realizes that now that it's gone and withered. Even when everything was so wrong and new and different, all it took was a hug to patch everything, at least momentarily. It was like finding a favorite jacket she'd thought she'd lost, and zipping into familiarity.

She can still remember the first time he kissed, really kissed her. Not as a question, or to see what he could get away with, but the first time he kissed her because suddenly he couldn't last another minute without her lips on his. If she really focuses, she can almost feel the warm solid confidence of his hand on her lower back, pulling her close.

Astrid can barely think back to when 'we' wasn't pervasive in her thoughts. She wonders what she did with her spare time, and at the same time she doesn't want to recall. She doesn't want there to be another option, she doesn't want to recognize a way to back out. She doesn't want to live any longer like she has the last three weeks, doesn't want to feel cold and lonely, solitary on her own two feet.

She's used to three.

She wonders what it will be like, seeing him with someone else. She wonders if it will hurt more if she's pretty or average, smart or dumb. Would she rather him cycle through a gaggle of short blondes, seeing herself in every conversation, or would it be easier if he branched out, dating her opposites and letting her know he's trying to forget her?

What if it's Heather?

She tries to imagine them as a couple, paired up like the matching set she and Hiccup could ever be. His long arm around her. It's a montage of them curled up on the couch together. Heather playing with Toothless, claiming a coat hook in the entry way. Finding Heather in her bathroom in the morning, borrowing mascara and smiling apologetically.

Hearing them.

Pounding on the wall at two in the morning, hoping they'll shut up and let her collapse in peace.

It's impossible to really imagine the impact. She could have thought about a friend losing a limb thousands of times, and nothing would have prepared her for the magnitude of it actually happening. She used wonder what would happen if her mom never came back, she thought dozens of times about childish things like buying her first tampons alone. But that phone call left her dead inside, bereft of feeling while she silently screamed, wordless in grief she couldn't possibly process.

She knows this is dramatic. The rational parts of her are defiantly standing by the defense that this is a break up, and she'll be fine.

The rest of her is filled with despair. It'll be horrible, she's never relied on anyone like this before. He's become an almost literal right hand. She can't leave him anymore than she could leave her lungs or—

Losing him is like losing a leg.

The analogy hits home like an acme piano.

Hiccup, well, he can get through anything. He's got this ever-lasting support system, more permanent and reliable than she could ever be. He lost a part of himself and rebuilt it stronger, replacing flesh and blood with machinery and physics.

He can distract himself, he can rebuild.

If something took her foot, she'd be lost. Years of hard work, her entire future would suddenly be uprooted as she fell apart. _All_ of her can stand through anything, take any hit, persist until she makes it.

90% of her is useless.

An incomplete Astrid is part of a race, 2 miles with a shitty finish. It's a pretty face and a vacant conscience. It's a half-life, attached to someone like Scott and afraid to be present.

How long will it take until missing him isn't a nagging phantom pain? It took Hiccup weeks to stop scratching at a foot that wasn't there. How long will she keep turning to tell him something before she realizes he's not there anymore?

How long until an eternity alone seems like an exaggeration?

Ten years? Fifteen?

Will her biological clock flick on and drive her into a loveless relationship with the first guy who doesn't remind her of what she's lost? Just raising kids in a doomed loop, repeating some horrible cycle.

How many nights will she wonder why everything is _wrong_?

Maybe it'll be fine. Maybe some future guy will be sort of smart and sort of funny, and they'll kind of click and be somewhat happy.

But maybe she'd rather be miserable, pining for a key she lost as a kid, hating who she used to be more than she does now. The Astrid who shoved Hiccup away will be infamous in her memory, far worse than the Astrid who broke Hiccup's arm.

She defines herself by Hiccup now.

It's something she hasn't noticed before, but when she bisects herself, it's always along the line of befriending Hiccup. It's not the Astrid who was scared of Spike, or the Astrid who saved her. It's not the distinction between walking towards her father or away.

It's not broken and fixed or bad and good or black and white.

It's Hiccup.

The distinction between hurting him and helping him. The distinction between who she was and who she wants to be.

But then the line went cattycorner, and the world spun out of control. Suddenly, being on the right meant admitting just how left she used to be, and she clammed up.

And now she's holding out for a maybe, but hoping for no.

She doesn't deserve another chance. She deserves to be the emotional vault she's always strived for, projecting happiness away from the dark core stored in the attic.

00000

Friday, 2/14 – Valentine's Day

Monday, 2/17 – Blind Side with Ruff, Meet Heather at Prosthesist

Tuesday, 2/18 – Push-up bra premier, Dinner with Jerry, Bowling with Heather

Wednesday, 2/19 – Knock out Tuff's tooth

Thursday, 2/20 – Talk with Scot Nout

Friday, 2/21 – Inhaler adventure

Saturday, 2/22 – Angry Make-out, Fishlegs at Home Depot

Sunday, 2/23 – Video Games with Heather

Monday, 2/24 – Stay home from school and make-up

Tuesday, 2/25 – Heather drops by for Research, Talk with Gobber

Thursday, 2/27 – The infamous bending incident, Lesbian relations with Ruff

Friday, 2/28 – Official 'break', Empathetic Track meet, Movie with Heather

Saturday, 3/1 – Sex Talk with Fishlegs, Nighttime talk

Sunday, 3/2 – Couch "napping", Night Hike with Ruff

Monday, 3/3 – Hung-over morning

00000

**Secondary warning of the drunk. **

**So, ten points to whoever can guess the line that made me curl up and cry for fear of eternal mediocrity. And who caught just how much Ruff agrees with the world at large?**

**And I just want to remind everyone that as of Chapter 26 of Chasing…Astrid was still with Scott Nout. Think of how she makes decisions. She makes herself absolutely sure, and mulls over that, before snapping and making everything happen very quickly. Not to mention that the sex didn't happen in Plans until Chapter 31. **

**And I promise that this will pay off just as much as everything else has paid off in the past. **

**Woo! Rock bottom! I promise this time, this is the metaphorical, literary Marianas Trench. It's all uphill from here, and it's parabolic, I promise. **

**Anyway, I hope that you guys have all sorts of frustrated feedback, even if it's bashing me hating happiness or something. Also, hangover cures appreciated. And I hope that you'll all keep an eye out for that related lemon that will hopefully raise everyone's collective spirits! **


	16. Chapter 16

**Happy New Year! Except just kidding, this is early because of that glitch last time. I think a lot of people got false alarm e-mails and couldn't read Chapter fifteen, and the buzz sort of died out after a day…so I figured it would behoove me to get the ball rolling again! **

**Anyway. Also you guys, I have a request. I posted a one-shot lemon in association with this. It's called Poof, and I'd like some supremely honest feedback. It's been a long time since I was in the lemon game…and I want some constructive criticism to edit off of for the end of this story! **

**Thank you, and enjoy! **

00000

Monday, after the longest day at school in recent history, Hiccup shuffles through the door, too listless to really fend off the dogs' enthusiastic greeting as he flops down onto the couch and stares at the ceiling. Spike jumps up next to him, wagging and licking his face as Toothless punches him in the gut with a singular and huge front paw.

"Ok, ok, ok," he groans, shoving the paw away from his stomach and sitting forward, staring at the almost wagging, obviously worried Toothless.

Spike whimpers and paws at his side.

They know. They have to know.

That might be the worst part of this whole thing. He and Astrid are miserable, and something is broken and now, their dogs are miserable too. Spike's ears are in a near-permanent droop, and her tail has been half-wagging for days. Toothless sighs every time he lays down, and he doesn't thump his tail when Hiccup walks into the room.

And he's pretty sure that his dad is avoiding home on purpose at this point.

"Come on guys, I don't want to sit here," he stands, zipping the jacket he never bothered taking off and pats the side of his leg, summoning the dogs to follow him. They trot after him, and somehow even the cadence of their claws clicking against the floor is muted. He shuffles over to the patio door and opens it, letting them out before him and shoving his hands in his pockets and following them down the deck stairs.

It's not icy, and he can't be in there anymore.

"What do you guys think, huh?" He asks the dogs, who are wagging almost demurely around his ankle as he walks towards the nearest wooded path. "I mean about…stuff."

Toothless gives him a stink eye over his shoulder and Hiccup rolls his eyes.

"So sassy today, what side of the bed did you wake up on?" The wolf huffs and trots ahead to catch up with Spike. They grumble to each other, tails wagging faster as Hiccup feels overwhelmingly out of a loop. "Oh, so you two are just going to speak dog, and leave me out? That's cool. I'm really thankful for _all_ of your support."

Silence.

They walk into the trees and the wind cuts out, leaving everything far too silent.

"I don't even care if you guys are listening anymore," Hiccup drones, taking his hands out of his pockets and wiping his palms down his face. "Everything is so messed up. And normally—here's the real kicker guys—normally, I'd ask Astrid for help with something like this. I don't even know—Well, maybe I do kind of know what she'd say." He stands up straighter, flicking imagined bangs out of his eyes with an over-exaggerated head twitch. "Well, what are you going to do?" He asks, the impression good enough to make his heart throb. "Come on, you have a plan for everything, just first figure out where you're going. Then you can figure out how to get there."

Figure out where he's going, what he wants.

Like it's so easy. Except it easy is easy, that's the only part of this whole mess that's making any sense anymore.

"I want _her_."

Toothless looks back over his shoulder and grins, tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth. Spike sits down in the middle of the train and stares at him critically, and suddenly the dog is the protective father Astrid never had.

Hiccup pats the pit's head, charming the parents.

"She said that her father messed her up, you know?" He starts, stepping to the side of the trail and sitting down on a flinchingly cold tree stump. Toothless sits across from him and stares at him hopefully, cocking his triangular black head. "Oh, you want to talk about that? Sicko…" Hiccup grumbles, resting his elbows on his knees and pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. "I don't want her to go, I want her to stay here. If she thinks her dad messed her up so bad…I mean, it's not the _same_, but I understand. I would understand."

Spike walks over and sits on his prosthetic, smiling back at him until he scratches behind her ears. He rests his chin on his other hand and fiddles with Spike's purple collar, remembering Astrid agonizing over it in the store. He remembers it was one of the first times he really identified Astrid as a _girl_.

Not Astrid Hofferson, not the beautiful bad-ass who had somehow become his friend. But just a _girl_, who wanted to get her new dog a pretty collar, just because.

"I mean, it's not exactly like my teenage years were particularly _loving_," Hiccup continues, hand gesturing against the back of Spike's neck as Toothless cocks his head, listening intently. , "And…she made me talk about _everything_." Nudges his prosthetic against Spike, who adjusts her seat and leans harder against him. "And she's never even—I mean, the emotional vault on that one—" Toothless grumbles. "Not that it's a bad thing—I mean, not that it's _bad_, I like how—I like pretty much everything about her—

"How did her dad mess her up so bad?" He asks and Toothless's mouth snaps shut. "I mean, what if?—do you think she was always so violent? Did Astrid just come out hitting people for fun? I bet she slugged the delivery nurse." Spike looks back at Hiccup, insulted. "What? I bet the nurse flinched, ok?"

The pit is appeased.

"Or did that come later, did she—And I know her dad hit her, but what if—It was probably…_emotional_ too, wasn't it?" He starts, and suddenly everything feels a little deeper. "Maybe that's—Scott was—That guy has moves, right? Maybe I should like, compliment her more?" He tries, but the idea sounds wrong. "Except she hates that, every time I try, or I say something about how she looks or—I mean, every time I say she's _pretty_ or something, she normally just hits me and _laughs_.

"I guess she does seem to _like _it, like her face goes all red and stuff, but that's all I ever really get—What if there's nothing I can do?" He asks and Toothless looks at him critically. Spike lays down, whining quietly into the dirt and sighing. Toothless gets up and walks closer, resting his pointy chin on Hiccup's bad knee. "Then according to Toothless, the _relationship authority_ I'm a coward, right?" The dog sighs and Hiccup smiles sadly. "Your talents are wasted here, go write a self-help book. Anyway, at least your girlfriend is still around," he nudges his metal foot against Spike's hip and she grumbles. "Ok Spike, keeping it casual, I get it."

Toothless sits up, obviously affronted, then looks at his boy seriously.

Toothless was really the first one to ever be hard on Hiccup. Not hard on him in that caustic, disappointed way, but the way that meant he knew the boy could do better. He's the one who convinces Hiccup to go to bed instead of watching Netflix until three in the morning, the one who glares at him in the kitchen until he makes actual food for dinner, rather than subsisting on pringles and energy drinks.

And no matter how many times it's used, there's something inspiring about the look of disappointment on the wolf's face.

"I don't have some huge plan for this. I don't know how to deal with Astrid being this…hurt and messed up and upset," Spike sits up and tilts her head back, looking at Hiccup. "And it's all her dad's fault, but—I love her even if she's…dented. I mean look at _me_," he throws his arms up and looks down at his metal foot. "She thinks I can't handle her issues? She thinks I don't want to deal with it?

"I've always known she had issues. I knew, I didn't care. Her dad was awful, and…and I bet he said horrible things to her all the time and—" It hits him. "And she thinks I'm going to say awful things too, because I did." He frowns. "I said some pretty horrible things, and now she thinks I'm going to be like him, she thinks that if she lets me-and I just came to the obvious conclusion, didn't I?" Hiccup asks himself, laughing miserably. "I can't do anything but sit here and not say any more horrible things to her."

Toothless cocks his head, still disappointed.

"Ok, I can talk to her and say not horrible things," he amends. The dog is unsatisfied. "Ok, I can talk to her and ask her what's wrong, while not being awful." Toothless grins and Hiccup nods, the simplicity scarier than it should be. "I'll just ask…smartass dog."

00000

Hiccup tries Monday night, but her door is shut and knocking seems impossible, even with Toothless staring disappointed from the end of the hallway. Tuesday is worse than it's been since Valentine's day. There's no pretending to the public this time, no justifying the silence with homework or exhaustion. Everything is different and bad, and she's leaving.

"Hey," Hiccup walks up beside Astrid's suitcase that's blocking the entrance to her finally open bedroom, shrinking back automatically from a glare that doesn't come. She glances up at him, hands full of socks as she picks her way across the temporarily cluttered floor to drop them in her bag.

Her red, white, and blue team USA uniform sits at the foot of her bed, still wrapped in crisp plastic, and he's suddenly so _proud_ it hurts.

"Hey," she responds, not making eye contact as she picks her way back to her bed, picking up another armful of assorted _stuff_ to pack. She's only going to be gone for six days, but between the team meet and greets, two a day prep runs, and finally a day doing nothing while Gobber visits with family, it seems like her pile of necessary clothes is infinite.

"Are you excited?" He asks too quiet, striving for something _funny_ but coming back dry.

"I've never been to Europe before," she says mildly, her voice so superficially ladylike that he wants to scream.

Astrid isn't divisible. He can either have all—well, most—of her or none of her, and the space between them is stifling. He stays by the door, screwed to the floor as she continues packing, methodically cramming things into her incredibly reasonably sized duffel bag. He wonders if _Astrid Hofferson_ was a three suitcase kind of girl, and mindlessly thinks about the trips they might have gone on if things were…stable.

His father offered him plane fare to Worlds' over the phone last night, but it didn't seem fair to invite himself when she so obviously wants to forget that he exists.

"When do you leave?" He checks the clock on the wall, it's coming up on 4 o'clock.

"Gobber's going to pick me up at five," her consonants are unbearably crisp, and a cold, unwelcoming breeze drifts his way.

"Do…" you want to tell me what's wrong? "you need any help packing?" He asks, and she wrinkles her nose, hands on her hips as she stares him down. Most girls' eyes would be red, he imagines. Their voices would be thick and emotional in their tear-sore throats. Astrid is so unbelievably steady that she almost looks carved into stone, some recently discovered Venus de Milo. Her normally transparent eyes are Fort Knox.

"What do you want, Hiccup?"

"You're going-" through something and he wants to help. Really. "You're going to do great," he ensures her, and he can't remember the last time she was _this_ impenetrable. It's hard to remember sometimes just how hard she used to be, but it's coming back full force, smacking him in the face.

He notices her freckles are smoothed into a seamless golden façade and it feels like someone stabs him between the ribs. He should have pushed her the other morning, it's like the door slammed shut in his face, and the last three months never happened.

It's like she somehow erased all those early mornings curled underneath the covers together, all the long winter evenings wrestling with Spike and laughing and avoiding homework.

"What? Not going to wish me luck?" She asks sarcastically and the tone is oddly relieving. The great Astrid Hofferson was never sarcastic, and his influence clings to her like smoke.

"You don't need luck."

"Damn right," she mumbles, falsely emphatic and Hiccup sighs.

"I'm just trying to …" be nice. Be supportive. Help. "Yeah."

"Space, Hiccup," She reminds him harshly, granite façade fracturing blazingly fast. She melts, emotions pouring towards him in an anguished wave. "I…never mind."

"What?"

"You're a distraction," she accuses him, angrily stuffing an old tube sock with athletic tape and ibuprofen. She jams it into her brand new USA racing flat, shoving the shoes into her bag. He's too close, the heat radiating off of him in ripples, and she spins away, folding a sweater like it personally offended her.

"What? Me being _nice_ is a distraction?" He bristles, angrier than he should be on top of that ever present layer of worry.

"I didn't _ask_ you to be nice," her hairdryer falls apart when she shoves it angrily into her suitcase and he sees her hand shaking as she tries to put it back together. He reaches out to fix it and she snatches it back, glaring at him and packing the pieces separately.

"You don't have to _ask_ me to be _nice_."

"I'm supposed to be relaxed right now," she insists and Hiccup laughs dryly.

"Well, we both know you're faster when you're pissed off," she scoffs.

Maybe she wants a fight. Maybe she wants to scream and stomp. She misses the days when that didn't seem to include crying. Her eyes itch, and she wipes them with the back of a rough hand, wishing she'd never bothered with makeup.

There's no _hiding_ from Hiccup.

No matter how much she wants to hide, she misses him _seeing_ her. Misses the comfort of his complete and utter acceptance.

"Except when ditzy McDitz is hitting on you and I fuck up my knee," she snaps, irrationally angry remembering the worst race of her senior season. She can't bring herself to bring up Heather.

Yet.

She can feel unfounded accusations forming in the back of her throat and she swallows hard, narrowing her eyes at him.

"You're bringing _that_ up? That's a little far under the rug, don't you—"

"Well, I'm not going to be here." Her discussion with Ruff the night before rushes back to her head, and she can't help but be irrationally terrified. And furious.

Mostly furious.

"She's dating Scott," Hiccup reminds her and she gasps theatrically.

"Heather _isn't_ dating Scott."

"No, she's not. She's my friend. And we aren't _interested_ in each other." She quiets and shrugs, turning away from him and holding her elbows in her palms.

"We're on a _break_, if…for now. I mean, we won't be on…after Worlds," she almost whines, worried. He stares at her, feeling…loved. It shouldn't be nice to hear her sound so anguished, and he's disgusted with himself as his heart soars. Some part of her is still holding on, even if it's hanging on Heather. "And she likes you more than she should."

"What makes you say that?"

"Oh come on, it's obvious. She looks at you like you're a _steak_."

"She's a vegetarian…or something."

"What?" Astrid asks, voice almost shrill.

"She doesn't eat steak," Hiccup hates that he's bothering with this cycle of correcting and arguing. He just needs to ask her what's wrong. He just needs to man up and ask her what is wrong.

"Of course she doesn't," she says darkly, her heart clenching near painfully in her chest.

She's not as over him as she's pretending to be, as she wants to be. This would all be so much easier if she didn't want to _hug _him.

"Like I'm not terrified you're going to find some massive Scottish bloke and not bother coming home," he laughs, eyes honest, but she stays strong, a modern sculpture of teenage angst.

"I don't want a massive Scottish bloke."

"What _do_ you want?"

"I don't know." Him. She wants him. She wants someone to wave a wand and wipe her brain and give him to her.

But that's impossible.

"I want you," Hiccup answers quietly, grasping at straws as he reads her mind. She frowns, whirling to perch on the foot of her bed.

"You can't say that right now." He shouldn't say that ever again. She tries to focus on her packing list and is unable to stop thinking about his face.

His smile when he gets home from a long day at school. His sleep groggy frown when she wakes him up too early.

His face when he was _inside _her. His face when she left. His face yesterday morning, when she almost told him.

His face now, staring through her angry surface and into the raw wound beneath. His green eyes are like a salve and she bites her lip until she tastes blood. Great, now she's going to be gnawing on that for the entire flight.

"I can _say_ what I want to—"

"Plus, aren't you going on that campus tour _thing_ at Mines this weekend?"

"What does _that_ have to do with anything?" He asks, thrown off of the scent. Her mind is a fucking labyrinth. It's like jumping from C to Java, same words, different _meanings._

"You're going to meet all sorts of _people_." Girls. He's going to meet girls.

"I'm going to the campus tour so that I can _tour_ the _campus_," he insists and she crosses her arms, glaring at his stupid naiveté.

"You're _hot_," she spits the complement like an insult and Hiccup groans.

"Is that—It's an engineering school, it's full of guys."

"Yeah, really weird engineer guys," Astrid agrees. "And a few hundred girls who are way better for you than me." She blurts, immediately wishes she hadn't as he blinks silently in her direction. "Hell, Heather is probably better for you than me, even if she's a freak who doesn't eat meat."

"What are you—"

"Oh come on, like high school relationships ever last—"

"Is that what this is? A _high school_ relationship?"

"Well, we met in high school," she explains, tone demeaning. "And don't tell me you've never thought about it. Go to college, meet a nice math geek and do calculus all the time—"

"Not since I met you," he admits and she rolls her eyes.

"You've known me for years."

"I _met_ you in September," he defends and she bites her lip, lost momentarily in his fiery gaze.

"It'll be better for everyone. I just—" Can't stand to think about it. Thinking about him with anyone else makes her want to tear her hair out. It makes her want to fight for him, and ruin the rest of his life. "I love you," she mutters, almost too quiet for him to hear. His expression doesn't give away that he heard her and she risks eye contact, instantly caught.

"Can you imagine how miserable that would be?" He asks with a superficial smile.

"What would be?"

"Me dating another person like me" She tries and fails to hide her relief, overly formal posture collapsing. "I'd never go outside. We'd build ourselves into a corner, and we wouldn't be able to leave without breaking our inventions." Astrid stares at him blankly.

"I can't _do_ calculus. I hate math. I don't understand what you're talking about, and there will be girls who will. I spend all my time working out and reading and…" Her argument loses steam and her will to speak fades as she hugs her ribs more tightly. She looks anywhere but at him and he shifts, his foot squeaking, jealous of the new elephant in the room.

"I can do all the calculus we'll ever need," he mumbles.

"She'd…" have sex with you. Bring more to the table. Be less _perfect_ and better suited to a life in reality.

"If I wanted this mystery girl you think is so great, if I wanted _Heather_, do you think I'd be here right now?" He asks, "Getting yelled at isn't _fun_, I'm not enjoying this."

"Then leave."

"I don't want to," he shrugs, and she stares him down. Two steps. He's two steps away. Two monumentally difficult steps. Neither of them move, daring the other to do _something_. "What is actually wrong? I'm listening."

She freezes and her mouth works soundlessly.

"What do you mean?"

"Astrid, what's wrong? You can tell me, I promise I—You can tell me."

"There's…this isn't the time," she shivers, hugging herself.

"I don't care if you think your dad messed you up," he blurts and her eyes flit to his face. "I love you."

"It's—I'm more than messed up, alright? It's bad, it's…I don't want to—I need to deal with this myself. I need—"

"Astrid, I'm here—"

The doorbell rings and they both jump, Astrid glaring down at her watch.

"Shit, he's early." She jumps to her feet, zipping her duffel and flitting to her backpack, quadruple checking for her passport and wallet before rushing towards the doorway. Hiccup doesn't move, letting her almost run into him. She falters, stopping about six inches in front of him and glancing up. "I've got to go." He wants to kiss her but it feels like going backwards, shoving more stuff into hiding under a blanket of confused physicality.

"You're…" Beautiful. Crazy. Really good at being infuriating. "Going to do great," he lurches back, stepping ungainly out of the way as his questionable courage fails him. Astrid hasn't necessarily approved the motion when she flings her arms around his neck, squeezing unbearably tightly for a too long moment.

She remembers the first time she hugged him, stressed beyond believe, frantic and worried, and she can't help but draw a parallel. His arms close around her lower back and he leans his forehead fall to her shoulder, touch starved and desperate to _convey_.

He won't hurt her. He won't…be like those assholes she's dealt with before. He wants a _chance_, one chance, unburdened by preconceptions or painfully constant reminders that he's not whole and she's not comfortable with being _his_ yet. Not _his_ but…at _one_ with him.

Sometimes it seems like she's not even really her own.

The doorbell rings again and she drops her heels, almost stumbling under the weight of her bags as she turns, walking down the hallway. She looks back at him before she turns the corner, brilliant blue eyes confused by momentarily placated.

He waits until the front door shuts behind her before shouting 'I love you' at the wall like an insult.

When did those three words stop being an affirmation and start sounding like an excuse? I love you so I don't want you. I love you so I'm yelling at you. I love you?

I love you and I hate myself. Every time she says it, it's like she's convincing herself that it's enough. Convincing herself that it's all she needs to tell him.

He should have kissed her. He should have made sure that she knew space didn't have to mean a universe and he can—he'll wait as long as he needs to.

As long as he lets him _help._ He's sick of the brick wall springing up and propositioning him without meaning. He wants to…

His phone rings and he picks it up, hoping it's Astrid. He'll say that he loves her this time and that he doesn't want to break up with her, because she needs to hear it. It's truer than it's ever been, he loves her so much that it makes him _insane_.

"Idiot!" A voice drawls through the speakers and he frowns, taken aback.

"Ruff?—"

"You didn't kiss her? Dude, you're killing me here. I only spent three hours and practically an entire bottle of Jack convincing her that you wanted to fix this shit."

"Why should _I_ have to fix it?" He can't tell if he's indignant that Ruff's butting in, or that Astrid talked to her over him.

"Because, any idiot can see that she's the bull in the china shop and you're the glue stick."

"Thanks for summing that up."

"In a good way," Ruff assures him, and he rolls his eyes. Astrid isn't the only victim of picking up horrible habits.

"Let me guess, she told you everything?"

"Not _everything_…Nothing—Erm yeah, pretty much everything. I'm sorry about the whole _bending _incident, that sounds horrible—"

"Hanging up now…" he warns and she stops laughing.

"She said that you guys aren't having sex. And that she didn't want to because Scott sucked in the sack...and there are _other_ reasons…"

"She said that about Scott?" He asks, interest piqued.

"I paraphrased."

"Did she tell you anything else?" He snoops shamelessly, angst fading from his voice, replaced by curiosity.

"That her dad's a disgusting waste of space," Ruff admits and Hiccup glowers at the wall. "And how messed up she is."

"She told you that?" He asks, feeling usurped. She used to talk to _him_. He should be glad she has a real friend. Should be relieved not to be her only outlet.

"I deduced it," Ruff answers, almost threatening, and Hiccup remembers when it would have terrified him. She's nothing compared to Astrid's quiet danger.

"So you're a detective now?"

"You sound like Astrid," she accuses bluntly and Hiccup leans against the wall, pressing his forehead against cold sheetrock.

He realizes it's true, he can hear her caustic voice echoing in the back of his mind: 'Is this CSI now?'

"What do you want, Ruff?"

"To know why you're so determined to be an asshole. It took a lot to convince her to tell you and—"

"Tell me what?"

"Why you two haven't done it, the real whole reason" Ruff explains expectantly, wondering why Hiccup is so dense today. He's normally smart.

"Why is that?" He asks slowly and Ruff swears loudly on the other side of the call. Something falls on the floor.

"She didn't tell you?"

"I guess not," he answers and hears the phone shift against a sigh. "Are you going to tell me why?"

"Not mine to tell," she mumbles and Hiccup raises his eyebrows.

"What are you scared of Astrid's wrath?" He prods and she pipes up too quickly.

"No."

"Then tell me."

"No!" She insists.

"Look, we're falling apart over here," Hiccup admits pitifully and Ruff groans into the phone. "She wants…she thinks I'm going to break up with her when she gets home."

"Are you?"

"If I don't—"

"If?" Ruff sneers, "you two have to fix this, ok? And…have you _asked_ her?"

"Yeah, but—"

"You asked and she didn't tell you?" Ruff almost roars, the phone's speaker static.

"She had to go," Hiccup nearly growls, "Just…help me out here."

"It's not mine to tell," she repeats through gritted teeth.

"How about a hint?" He asks and hears her smack something on her end.

"You're too smart for a hint, idiot."

"Come on," he urges and the line remains silent long enough that she wonders if she's hung up.

"It's her dad."

"Yeah, I've figured that much out."

"And it's completely fucking understandable." His blood runs cold as she guesses flood his mind.

Could he? No, that's—well, he is an ass, but—What could he have said? What could he have said or _done_ or—

His mind shorts out. He can't tell whether he's stuck or just dreads thinking further. He suspects it's the latter.

"Did she mention the fact that she doesn't find me erm…wantable?" He tries to sound indignant as he's compelled to _check_, but falls flat with a stutter.

"She doesn't know what she wants," Ruff corrects him, sounding surprisingly wise.

"But she obviously doesn't think I'm—"

"Dude, she practically waxes poetic on your ass. She thinks you're plenty bang-able," he flushes, subconsciously clenching.

"Oh."

"Yeah oh. So you want another hint?"

"What?" He asks quietly, suddenly impossibly lonely. He should have kissed her.

"She's trying to break up with you so you don't have to deal with her messed up head." Hiccup frowns.

"I can handle her messed up head. I love her," he snaps at Ruff, sick of Astrid darting around the point, trying to _protect_ him.

"I know. That's why I'm telling you." Ruff sighs again, "one more hint. If you still want her, you're going to need to _get_ her."

"She has to try too, Ruff," Hiccup laments, wishing he alone could flick some magic switch and fix everything.

"She will." The girl sounds less confident, and continues slowly. "If you corner her."

"She needs to tell me this stuff."

"Be sure to act surprised when she does." He'll be too busy being happy that she trusted him to act surprised.

If this ever happens, which seems doubtful at best. Corner Astrid?

Right.

Then again, he had her before she left.

Half of him itches to chase her down, and the other half floods with despair.

Six days. She'll be home in six days.

"Thanks," he mumbles into the phone.

"Hey, I'm not going to let my best friend throw you away to be freaking _noble_."

"She is _noble_, always has been." Hiccup concurs quietly.

"And you're good for her because you see that," the moment is unbelievably still until Ruff speaks again, "And because she's really picky about asses, but she likes yours." And there's the Ruff he knows.

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it," she pauses, "Well do mention it, because if you don't fix this, I'm obligated to kick your ass."

"Thanks for the warning," he deadpans and Ruff chuckles, the noise pure static.

"Bye, Hiccup."

"Yeah."

00000

"I just really don't think that sea level is going to help as much as you think it is," Astrid gripes, pressing her thin airplane pillow against the wall of her window seat, curling into a ball. It should be awkward, settling in for an eight hour flight next to her coach, but her brain is too steeped in worry and misery to care.

"It's going to increase yer blood oxygen enough—"

"Blood oxygen." She wrinkles her nose, "Do you have to be so science-y?" She snips and Gobber rolls his eyes.

"All this time hangin' 'round Hiccup and ye can't take a little science?" Astrid stares at him blankly and he shrugs, "But o' course ye two are fightin'."

"What makes you say that?" She looks out the window at the runway and the men loading the cargo bay of the plane.

"Yer meaner 'n a snake, an' ye glared at every skinny red-head in the airport." She frowns, crossing her arms and Gobber continues, "not to mention Jerry drinkin' wit me every night he's home to avoid the tension. An' he keeps insistin' my couch is comfortable, when I know it's nae."

"He's been doing that?" She asks and Gobber nods. "And we aren't fighting. We _fought_."

"And o' course yer completely satisfied wit the situation."

"Why would you guess that?" She snaps and Gobber shrugs. "Because I'm _not_."

"Oh, I know yer not," he deftly buckles his seatbelt with one hand and her eyes flick to his metal limbs, her gaze hardening into a glare.

A hug? A hug that _she_ had to initiate?

She guesses she should be glad that he came out of his room at all the way she's been treating him. But a hug? It must have been obvious how much she needed _something_, does she have to come out and _ask_?

She needs assurance. She needs to know that they still have a chance.

That is still true…

She hopes there's still a chance. She wants it more than anything she can remember wanting. She wants to come home and just…

If it meant she could go crawl in bed with Hiccup and be _normal_, she'd abandon Worlds right now. She would get off the plane and go home and amend that hug with so much more.

"So you know I'm miserable," Astrid blurts, crossing her arms more tightly.

"Ye've been runnin' like the track insulted ye," Gobber comments, "An we're lucky that it doesn't slow ye down, but it ain't good fer yer knee te be stompin' around like an angry bull." She sneers her response.

"My knee? That's what you're worried about?"

"Would ye still be talking to me if I were worryin' about anythin' but yer knee?" Gobber explains and Astrid clamps her mouth shut. How is he right? "An' ye'll never figure out yer actual problem with Hiccup."

"Oh, and since you know _so_ much, what is my _real_ problem?"

"Because I know so much, I'm just gonna point out tha' he's a lot more ready to be leaned on than yer ready te lean." He tells her cryptically and she frowns.

"I can stand, I don't need anyone to lean on. I'm—I don't need to be babied." she snips and Gobber scoffs.

"He knows ye don' need te be babied."

"What makes this your business, anyway?" Astrid snaps and Gobber shrugs, irritatingly nonchalant. Truthfully, he's known Astrid for four years and Hiccup for his entire life, and he genuinely cares for both of them and wants them to be happy. He wishes he'd had a protective wall like Astrid when he'd first lost his leg.

"Yer gonna hurt yer knee if ye keep tantrummin' like this."

"Right, my _knee_." The flight attendant walks into the aisle and starts gesturing towards the emergency exits and Astrid ignores them, staring out the window.

The romantic part of her brain wants—no, expects—to see Hiccup gallantly charging across the tarmac.

But he's jumped through enough inane hoops for her, and she's done being his _problem_. She's not his concern anymore.

She helped him out, got him back on his feet, literally. As much as she tries to consider her debt settled, what she did for him will never compare to how much he helped her.

He'll be better off, right? And so will she, in a way.

There's no one out there like Hiccup, no one else so sweet and kind and wicked _smart_. No one else is going to barge in and make her feel this way. She can be un-conflicted and _alone_ without issue.

Hopefully she'll keep being _her_, but she fears most of her recently discovered best qualities are Hiccup dependent.

Maybe they'll end up as actual _friends_. She thinks she might like that…well, until he gets a new smart girlfriend with big boobs and an affinity for calculus. Or he and Heather will suddenly be cozy, and she'll be one leg out of a loop she never belonged to in the first place.

She's never recognized her own insecurity as such before, and it's utterly miserable. All her little issues float through her head, making her glad he doesn't have to deal with what a sad-sack she is.

She's _short_, and runner skinny, and her face is freakishly symmetrical and she's horrible with math. She has disgusting hay fever that makes her nose drip like a faucet and she has a mean streak a mile wide.

Ok, maybe 10 miles wide.

She doesn't appreciate the little things that he does, and yells at him far too much. She's horrible at apologies, and when she looks at him, really _looks_, her body disobeys her brain.

The whole picture drowns in the insignificant flaws and her shoulders sink back into the seat.

He's better off.

"Fer the record, lassie, ye do seem awfully happy when he's around," Gobber tells her and she looks at him, frowning. "An' he's never been so full of 'imself, so I'm guessing he's happy too."

She doesn't have a canned response for that, and she pulls a book out of her backpack, pointedly flicking open to the first chapter.

Nope, Jane Eyre isn't going to help anything, what with the stereotypical evil stepmother and moving in with Rochester and whatnot. It ruins her pointed gesture, but she shoves the book back into her bag and peruses her options. Pride and Prejudice? Nope. Scarlet Letter? Nope.

She doesn't want to read overly long sentences about forbidden sexual relations.

Eventually, she settles on the sky-mall catalogue in the seat pocket ahead of her, skimming through the more insane products. Even this is too…stimulating. All the bizarre niche inventions sound like figments out of Hiccup's midnight ramblings.

Happy.

Gobber said happy.

Is happy enough? Is happy worth clinging to? Fighting to be happy feels like an oxymoron, but it's what she knows. She fought to break out of her ivory tower, fought to find what she could of herself through the haze. She fought with doubt and depression the whole time he was in the hospital, and she fought his snippets of self-loathing while he recovered.

She fought her nerves to tell him that she loved him.

A _gentler_ girl would have told him everything. She's had plenty of chances, plenty of soured moments, plenty of nights cuddled up against him, dismal thoughts floating on the back of her tongue.

She's not ready to be gentle.

What if he never sees her the same again? What if he gives her that broken puppy look, like she's weak or…

But what if he treats it like he did learning about…everything else. What if they go get breakfast, and he asks questions, calibrating his response to her with refined motions? What if he's respectful and caring?

They'd be closer, wouldn't they?

Further trapped into the wonderful suspension of reality, somewhere between high school and more.

But it's still not _fair_, is it? Just because she got the short end of this stick doesn't mean she should go pawning off stress on everyone else. Ruff is bad enough, looking at her like she's going to crack like an egg against an unfriendly garage door. She practically had to yell at the other girl to stop treating her like a china doll for them to resume normal communication.

Maybe she'll tell him in a few years. She can meet him after her adult job for drinks and they'll reminisce about why they aren't still happily together. She can tell him, because obviously, she'll be completely over it. Her childhood will be completely inconsequential to her glamorous adult life.

And they can just start over, assuming he didn't already marry his big-boobed, physicist girlfriend. Or Heather.

Assuming he doesn't have two beautiful amputee children in his beautiful amputee family.

That's fucked up, she'd never wish that on Hiccup's kids. Even if she does think it when she's furious. Furious and _sad_.

She's sad, miserable, morose even. She's not happy at all.

But that doesn't make Gobber any less horribly right.

She wonders how much it will hurt when she actually loses him.

She wonders if she can even imagine the magnitude of that future kick to the gut. It feels far off, like her father's anger in those hours between doing less than stellar on a test and arriving home. She's in some sort of bizarre limbo between the before Worlds reality where she and Hiccup are together and the after Worlds hell where they aren't.

Maybe she'll implode when the worlds collide, and she won't have to walk through the door.

00000

Friday, 2/14 – Valentine's Day

Monday, 2/17 – Blind Side with Ruff, Meet Heather at Prosthesist

Tuesday, 2/18 – Push-up bra premier, Dinner with Jerry, Bowling with Heather

Wednesday, 2/19 – Knock out Tuff's tooth

Thursday, 2/20 – Talk with Scot Nout

Friday, 2/21 – Inhaler adventure

Saturday, 2/22 – Angry Make-out, Fishlegs at Home Depot

Sunday, 2/23 – Video Games with Heather

Monday, 2/24 – Stay home from school and make-up

Tuesday, 2/25 – Heather drops by for Research, Talk with Gobber

Thursday, 2/27 – The infamous bending incident, Lesbian relations with Ruff

Friday, 2/28 – Official 'break', Empathetic Track meet, Movie with Heather

Saturday, 3/1 – Sex Talk with Fishlegs, Nighttime talk

Sunday, 3/2 – Couch "napping", Night Hike with Ruff

Monday, 3/3 – Hung-over morning

Tuesday, 3/4 – Astrid leaves for Worlds

00000

**So, I hope everyone ended up reading Chapter 15…I don't know what that glitch was, but it was odd, and I swear I didn't do anything to break it or fix it. **

**Anyway, I'm starting to get really excited, because everything is really starting to ramp up here. I really really want to hear your opinions about this parting. It seriously broke my heart like even more than the last one! Any feedback you feel I deserve is appreciated! **

**Thanks! **


	17. Chapter 17

**So I'm sorry for dropping off of the face of the earth. I got sick and ended up spending a few days completely trapped with a new book that kept me away from the world in a cage of confusion and anxiousness. **

**Anyway, for that, this is a few hours earlier than I intended it, and I promise review responses from the last chapter are on their way! I'll start working on them presently, but I have work in an hour, so I'll have to finish the rest tonight. I figured you guys would rather have an early chapter, so tell me if I guessed right! **

00000

"And then she just left?" Heather asks, slurping her organic iced chai too loudly through its ice cubes. Hiccup cringes at the sound.

Everything is annoying him today.

No, everything Heather is doing is annoying him today.

She giggled when she saw Toothless, and _squealed_ when he sat down and clumsily pawed at his surely damaged ear drum from the shrill sound. She messed with his car radio, and took five minutes to order a drink.

But she's listening.

Unlike Ruff and Fishlegs who gave him a cold shoulder since last night when they heard he hadn't called Astrid yet. Unlike his dad who just tried again to offer trans-atlantic tickets. Yesterday was horrible, yesterday he asked. He asked, and they almost made it. What if that's all he has? That was nerve wracking and horrible. What if his determination is broken? Clogged with viruses and bogged down by how much it hurts to think about her.

Even now, thinking about thinking about her, it feels like someone stabbed him and twisted the knife. And pain, that doesn't exactly make him forget her either.

He hopes she runs fast. He hopes she's making friends, and that she's eating enough, and that it's not all junk food.

He hopes her uniform fits and she doesn't get any blisters and she comes home _normal_.

"Yup, she left."

"Sounds like it's over," Heather takes another impossible sip, the air pulling through the ice cubes with the grumble of his heart running through a food processor.

"Stop that."

"What?" She goes to take another drink and he snatches the cup away, throwing it towards the trash in the corner of the coffee shop and missing by a good three feet. "Hey—"

"It's gone, you can stop trying."

"Yeah, and so is your girlfriend," she rolls her eyes and her phone vibrates, signifying a text. She picks it up, grinning at whatever it says and responds, her mouth moving slowly along with whatever she's typing.

Is she wearing lipstick? Why does that make him slightly nervous?

"Thanks for summing that up."

"I didn't sum anything up," Heather shrugs. "She's in Scotland. She chose Worlds over you."

"She didn't choose Worlds over me," Hiccup scoffs. "I always knew she was going to Worlds. It's just shitty timing."

"If she really loved you, she would have stayed to work things out."

"I'll be here when she gets back," he insists. "Worlds is kind of a once in a lifetime shot."

"I know," she shrugs. "I'm just saying, being a jock only pays while you're young and limber."

"This isn't about her being a jock," Hiccup frowns. "It's about her finishing something. I'm not mad that she left. I'm mad that…I still don't know what's going on," he admits honestly. Heather glimpses sideways at him, and he concludes that she's definitely wearing way too much makeup for a movie with a friend.

"I'd keep you clued in."

"Come on, you didn't even tell me you'd be half an hour early," he diverts her grins, glad for the cheap laugh as he finishes his own drink, fumbling with the sharp plastic edge of the lid and wondering how fast he'd have to move his thumb to get the paper cut from hell.

"Sorry about that," she flushes and covers her face almost delicately with her hands. "I should have figured you'd be in the shower or something."

He can't help but remember that she was busier giggling at him than flushing embarrassed when he answered the door still soaking and half dressed. And then Spike got the idea to lunge at the almost stranger and fought him the entire way back to Astrid's room.

He wishes he'd convinced Astrid to buy a kennel. He wishes he could poof back to that day and change everything.

And even though it was horribly violent, he guesses it was good to see the pit perk up, she's been moping non-stop since Astrid left. She kicked Toothless off of Hiccup's bed, and he keeps waking up at three in the morning to her whimpering in her sleep, tail wagging in greeting to someone he can't see.

He wonders who misses Astrid more.

"Why would you figure I was in the shower?" He laughs, "Who showers at four in the afternoon?"

"Hey, I like to use my shower chair in broad daylight," she giggles, nudging him in the ribs like some bizarre, twisted inside joke. He looks at her strangely.

"Does your bathroom not have electricity or something?" He asks flatly, unsure of how to respond.

"I don't know, I just like the natural light. Better contrast," she grins and blinks too quickly.

"Is there something in your eye?"

"What?" She wipes under her eyes delicately, like Astrid does when she thinks her mascara is messed up. "Is there?"

"I was asking you," he scoots away when he suddenly realizes how overwhelmingly close to him she somehow ended up.

"There's nothing in my eye," she assures him, checking her watch. It's a girly thing, silver and shiny, with an elegant face patterned by Roman Numerals. He remembers Astrid's sport watch going off Monday morning and being so horribly, completely content. "We should get going, the movie is in like fifteen minutes."

"It's across the parking lot," he tells her, staring out the coffee shop front window at the movie theater façade. She shrugs.

"I don't want to be late."

"There will be fifteen minutes of previews," he insists. A memory of dashing from the airport after nationals to a showing of some evidently horrible sci-fi movie he wanted to see cascades through his mind on repeat. He and Astrid were five minutes late, and she just _had_ to spend twenty dollars on movie junk. It was obvious that the movie was stupid, and the science was bad, and they spent most of the hour and a half making out. After all, she had been gone for two whole days, and he'd thought he might die from the silence.

She fell asleep on his shoulder and he stayed through the entire credits, just listening to her snoring.

"—on," Heather finishes a thought, hands in her pockets as she stands from the table with a graceful click. "He-e-enry, are you in there?" She waves her hand in front of his face, and he imagines Astrid slapping it away.

He almost smiles as the reality in his head overcomes what he's actually seeing.

"Huh?"

"Come on," she urges, waving her hand at him. It reminds him of calling a pack of dogs somewhere. "And since I've kept paleo all week, red vines on me?" She offers with a stereotypically tempting grin.

"I don't like red vines."

"You said last week that you _love_ red vines," she frowns and he shakes his head.

"No, you offered me a one and I said I don't like the texture," he reminds her and she stares at him questioningly. "Remember? And then Astrid—" his voices catches unintentionally in his throat and he coughs. "Astrid had one?"

"I didn't have candy last week," she insists, too emphatic and he nods slowly.

"I was there," he laughs. "You had red vines and a box of sour patch kids."

"No, I didn't. I had a game on Friday, I would not have been eating candy on Tuesday," she gripes, and his face falls as her anger is suddenly remarkably genuine.

"You're actually arguing with me right now, aren't you?" He frowns and she nods.

"Maybe not _arguing_," she chews on the inside of her lip and smiles too broadly. "Let's just go to the movie, forget about this whole Astrid thing for a while."

"I guess," he slouches to his feet, wishing it were as easy as going to a movie.

00000

The team meet and greet on Wednesday is formal, the six five runners plus an alternate are mostly very closely monitored by a team of coaches, and the public introductions are brief and restrained, mostly detailing the times the team has the course and track reserved. The official meeting disbands, and Astrid lures Gobber to chat about race final preparation again in a lonely corner like the miserable social pariah she feels like these days.

"Hey Astrid," one of the other runners drags them out of their conversation.

"Yeah?" She asks, probably looking as harried as she feels.

"Um, the rest of us are having team bonding in Erin's room," the girl points to a cheery red head chatting animatedly across the room, "and we wanted to invite you."

"Uh," Astrid deliberates, her former decisiveness a distant happy memory as she looks to Gobber, who shrugs.

"I don' care, jus' don' go makin' a pact te lose," he brushes her off with a barely there wink and she turns back to the girl.

"Sure," she shrugs, following her back across the room.

"Is your coach talking about your meet last week? Where you helped that girl finish?" The girl asks, and Astrid can't help but notice that she almost feels _tall_ in current company.

"I don't know what he's talking about," Astrid shakes her head.

"Well, that was really cool of you. It got me a _wonderful_ lecture about sportsmanship, so you have that to be happy about." Astrid laughs, and it's the most real that she's felt since she saw Hiccup.

She should have kissed him.

"Thanks," they join a group of four lithe girls next to each other like a skinny tribe.

"Hi, Astrid," the girl introduced as Erin waves up at the blonde from her scant five foot height. She has a pleasant southern accent that sounds like Gone with the Wind, and got 4th at nationals, if Astrid is correctly remembering the view over her shoulder.

"Hey," she greets, almost wishing Ruff were here to say something outlandish and crack this wide open. There's something completely different about holding court in her own high school, something familiar about everyone knowing who she is. Here, she's just another runner, not even the best, or the fastest.

She tells herself to be nice, but it doesn't seem like she really needs the instruction right now.

"Ok, ok," Erin drawls nicely. "Introductions," she points to Astrid. "Astrid, Sarah and Rachel," she turns and gestures to two girls standing close together, obviously friends beyond this haphazard group. Next is the girl who invited Astrid over, "This is Josie, and Jenny," she finally gestures to an especially skinny quiet girl with jet black skin. "Oh, and I'm Erin," she finishes with an open laugh.

"That might take me a minute," Sarah laughs and Rachel nods. The pair's hair is back in matching twin braids, and in the moment, Astrid suddenly yearns for that sort of companionship. She imagines asking Ruff to braid her hair, and has to bite back a laugh at the other girl getting frustrated halfway through and tying deliberate knots, grinning maniacally and waiting for Astrid to notice.

"Well, we've got all night," Erin encourages, rubbing her stomach in an overwhelmingly familiar gesture. "And room service has about fifteen plates of fries with our names on them."

"Oh, what are you all eating?" Astrid jokes, thankful to Hiccup for the nip of unleashed wit somehow diffused into her at the same time as she resents using his help.

"Ok Astrid, fifteen for each of us," Josie laughs, an indelicate snorting through her tiny aquiline nose.

By the time the six girls are curled up on two beds with as many pillows as the hotel would provide, they feel like actual friends. Josie flops onto her back next to Astrid, bouncing the blonde enough to spur her to hit her almost gently with a pillow. She now recognizes Josie was second at Nationals, but she's not as furious as she should be.

She hopes this new calmness is good for her career, because it sure isn't helping her personal life.

Hiccup is going to break up with her when she gets home, and she'll be alone. The thought leaves her empty and reaching for cosmic assistance, the fight drained from her system and replaced by a ticking clock.

Everything is the same until Worlds. She should enjoy until Worlds.

"Ow, you should be a pillow fighter, what are you doing here running?"

"Rematch," Astrid grins at the other girl, bravado inflating her like silicone. "I've so got you this time."

"How'd I know you'd say that? You looked like you wanted to smash me when I pulled away in that second mile," she taunts with a laugh and exaggerated grimace and Astrid shakes her head, suddenly introspective as she directs her attention to the group at large.

"Why are we all here?" She wonders aloud.

"To kick some Kenyan ass," Josie crows and Astrid laughs, unable to avoid momentarily seeing a pint size Ruff. Erin opens her mouth, scandalized.

"Yeah right," Rachel laments quietly, "Except maybe Jenny."

"You're just saying that because she's black—" Josie starts and Astrid smacks her arm.

"We're here to run," Astrid finishes, laughing through gritted teeth. It was a dumb question. She's here because—well, she's here for the same reason everyone else is, isn't she?

"Do y'all ever wonder why we do this to ourselves?" Erin asks, flinging her elbow over her eyes.

"I do it because I'm too small for any other sport, and too exhausting to the world at large if I sit still for too long," Josie chips in her two cents and Erin laughs in agreement.

"I'm here because cheerleaders at my school were stuck up, and I needed to do _something_," Erin adds.

"I'm here because she's here," Rachel nudges Sarah, who rolls her eyes.

"Yeah, you joined because of me, but now you're faster and I'm the alternate." They were fifth and sixth, Astrid remembers at Sarah's comment. "So yeah, I'm here in case anyone breaks a leg. So don't trip." She warns, obviously not too excited about the prospect of running.

"I'm here because…" Astrid starts, before frowning in halting confusion. She's here because she was pushed and shoved toward greatness and away from home by a horde of forces she doesn't care to think about. "I guess you run this much, and you just want it to seem worth it," she mumbles, wishing for that promised food to cut her off. "I'm here to make _everything_ worth it," she says too cryptically, snapping her mouth shut a sentence too late.

Leaving Hiccup like she did…losing him. She can tell herself that this is all worth it if she just…what? Wins.

She's never going to win. Losing Hiccup wouldn't be worth it even if she did.

"Amen," Rachel agrees and the group turns to Jenny.

"I'm here for America," the girl mumbles in heavily accented English.

"And we've got a patriot!" Josie announces obnoxiously and Astrid shoves her jokingly off of the bed, sprawling over the now bigger space.

"Continue Jenny," Astrid urges through a tight lipped laugh.

"America took me in, and running is what I can do," she shrugs, and Astrid finds herself interested. She leans closer as her eyes spring wide.

"Where are you from?" She asks, as the room feels smaller, a cubicle around a conversation between two mysteriously kindred souls.

"Sudan," she mumbles and then frowns. "I guess it is South Sudan now."

"How old were you when you left?" Astrid asks, out of herself. The empathy feels good, feels like talking to Hiccup. Like when she realized she could care more about someone else than herself.

It lets her cling to the fact that she can still be _good_, or at least better, no matter what he does or doesn't do.

"I was thirteen, and my little brother was 11. We got adopted from a camp in Chad." Jenny answers openly and Astrid wells with respect.

"Did you run to the camp?" Jenny looks at her strangely, and there's something kind and safe in her big dark eyes as they find the suddenly apparent pain in Astrid's.

"Yeah, we did."

Jenny assures the other girl, and it's Astrid's corner of suburban hell on a worldwide scale.

"Ok, now I'm patriotic too," Josie breaks the tension from her post on the floor, and the whole room breathes. Jenny looks at Astrid with some sort of dark meaning she can't interpret, and she vows to approach the other girl tomorrow.

Everyone is clearly ready for a laugh, and Astrid puts on her practiced good-times smile, hoping to bring the group along with her. After a semi-tense moment, Erin changes the subject, with a coy, semi-permanent grin.

"Ok, ok, now we've gotten all that serious out of the way. I need an opinion." She whips out her phone and shows a picture of a handsome, smiling, young man. "What do y'all think?"

"Ooh," Rachel and Sarah crow in eerie unison and Josie turns up her nose with a silly grin, the expression too big for her elfin face.

"Cute right?" Erin affirms, and Astrid realizes she's caught in the middle of some horribly teenage discussion about boys.

She's suddenly spilling with gossip fodder.

"He's cute, but I'm more for the tall, pale, and geeky," she grins and the group looks at her oddly.

"That's specific," Josie laughs.

"Do you have photo evidence?" Sarah asks, and Rachel nods emphatically.

"We do need evidence."

She grins, leaning closer to the center of the circle and rolling her eyes. She pulls out her phone and flicks through a few pictures, her heart seizing in her chest as she skims past a few unbelievably goofy shots and decides on one of him and Toothless, showing it around to the group.

Their jaws fall open and she pulls back, confused.

"He's hot, but he's not _that_ hot, guys," she says. shocked as they stare at her phone.

"That dog is huge!" Erin blurts.

"Is that a wolf?" Rachel asks and Sarah nods emphatically.

"Oh him?" She frowns at the picture, trying to comprehend the time when Toothless was anything but someone to cuddle. "Yeah, he's a wolf. He's Hiccup—I mean Henry's dog." She introduces with a laugh.

"Tall, pale, and geeky has a pet wolf?" Josie asks with a laugh. "That's awesome!"

"Does he bite?" Sarah asks.

"Nah, he doesn't bite. Unless you're a milk-bone," Astrid shrugs, fielding different questions than she anticipated. Where are the more polite but still Ruff-style questions about kissing and…well, none of these girls are likely to ask about the curvature of Hiccup's ass.

"Anyway, if you're asking if he's hot, I'm liking the whole wolf angle," Josie laughs with a slow nod, and Astrid grins.

"So, any immediate plans of action with Henry, was it?" Erin asks, and Astrid flushes over her throbbing chest.

"He's my boyfriend," she says proudly, her smile flat at the corners of her mouth.

"And you guys are fighting because you're always running," Rachel guesses and most of the group rolls their eyes in understanding.

"Or because you never let him finish his food, and you're constantly starving," Sarah adds.

"Or because you could kick his ass," Jenny adds in her lilting accent and they all laugh.

"Well that's true," she laughs, cradling her head in her hands. "But he's great about the running schedule, and it's not like he finishes his own food anyway."

"So, what's the fight?" Josie asks, "Is his wolf way too regal and majestic and bad-ass for you to handle?"

"You're lucky you're on the floor," Astrid gripes at the girl who's quickly becoming her new friend. "And no, his wolf is the best." She chews on her lip, and digs to the deepest point of her problem, sidestepping the deeply personal stuff she can't say and trying to fumble through why she's actually mad. "We fought about stuff, and we both said mean things, and we can't seem to get back to where we used to be."

"And the award for vagueness goes to…"

The pillow hits home and Josie coughs.

"Fine. We fought because of sex, and deciding when to have it," Astrid amends and the group falls silent.

"Was he…pressuring you?" Erin asks delicately and Astrid snorts, remembering her conversation with Hiccup's father a couple of weeks ago.

That feels like eons ago. It was a different era, full of push-up bras and doubting her present instead of her past.

"No one pressured anyone," she admits, tossing her pride to the wind. "It just kind of…well, I actually started an epic novel here when you were thinking about an anecdote." She brushes it off, and peers around the room with raised eyebrows. "So any of you have boyfriends who aren't obsessed with calculus?"

"Single," four girls say in unison and Jenny nods in agreement.

"So am I telling the story?" She clarifies and suddenly an audience nods. "Ok then…" she pauses for a second, thinking of a good starting point. "I broke his arm. On purpose, because he was really really annoying—"

"Awesome!" Josie whisper yells from the floor, and Astrid wishes she had another pillow to throw.

"Anyway, we got paired up for some dumb project, and it turned out he was amazing, and I broke up with the boyfriend I had at the time—"

"There's another guy?" Rachel leans forward, entrapped in the true life chick flick summarized in front of her eyes.

"He was a football player, we dated for a couple—like three years," Astrid tries and fails to minimize the comment, chewing on her lower lip. "Yeah, it's a little complicated. Anyway, I dumped the football player, and Henry and I started getting together, and I think we had something solid—" She stops and takes a breath. "But then there was an accident, and I was _involved_, and Henry ended up losing a leg and being in a coma for three weeks." She finished in a hushed voice, feeling like she's bragging, and that the bragging is misplaced.

"Wow," Sarah comments quietly.

"Yeah, and then I kind of announced to the whole school that I loved him, and he woke up and didn't remember we ever got together. But then we had a fantastic three months, before on Valentine's day, making out got a little too intense and we almost did something, but I stopped it and he thought it was because of the leg," she admits, and when she says it like that, everything seems so wonderfully tame, compared to all the insanity that came before it.

She has so much more to be freaking out about it.

The little things are what matter, and she hates herself for that.

None of this is her fault.

It's like a catastrophe, flung together from infinite directions, doomed to be more difficult than she'd originally hoped.

"Is he in a wheelchair?" Erin asks calmly and Astrid shakes her head.

"Really, it's not a big deal. He thinks it is but…It's below the knee, he has a fancy prosthetic and is less clumsy now than he was before, if we're honest." That draws a snicker and she grins to herself.

"That's not where I was expecting that to go," Rachel admits.

"Where does the wolf come in?" Josie asks, obviously disappointed.

"Did I mention that the wolf is three-legged?" Astrid throws out there and the girl laughs in the back of her throat.

"Awesome," she whispers, awed. The group looks at Astrid, wide eyed.

"That was a separate thing, I didn't know him then."

"So you seriously don't care about his leg?" Sarah asks, eyebrows raised skeptically.

"Couldn't care less."

"It doesn't weird you out?" Erin asks, obviously embarrassed at the question.

"Honestly, he's never looked better, if that's what I was worried about. He's always been smart, and fantastic, but the hunky bits are post physical therapy," she tells them conspiratorially and Josie's head pops up above the side of the bed.

"Hunky bits?"

"Does he know you're ok with everything?" Erin asks and Astrid looks at the floor.

"I told him, but I guess it wouldn't hurt to tell him again."

And she's not just talking about the leg.

She's told him with her tears, and with her slaps, and with her terrified running out in the middle of sex. She's told him cryptically through a veil of her mom, too early in the morning.

She's told him every way but the simple one.

Everyone is right. She's just _stuck_.

She's going to get unstuck, whatever it takes.

He's going to break up with her, and that's horrible and somehow inevitable. She's not going to stand for it. Because when it really comes down to it, if she's choosing between keeping this horrible secret and having Hiccup, then she's just going to have to figure out how to ditch the secret.

Because the fact is they went to hell and back before they were even together. They saved dozens of dogs, and tackled every awkward situation with that strange, uncomfortable zeal to _know_ each other that's been woefully missing for the last few weeks. She wants to know him. She wants him to know her.

She wants to let him in, and feel that same rush as the first time, that same increase in comfort, escalated by their current degree of closeness. He already knows more about her than anyone else ever could, and she's ready to let him know everything.

Astrid is going to shed that recent and unflattering skin of helplessness, and she's going to do what she has to do to save herself and her relationship along the way. She's happier and safer and more comfortable with Hiccup than she's ever been on her own, and she's not losing it just because she's too scared to try.

And she can't know that he won't leave her. He might, she'd even understand. But she does know one thing: No matter how bad it gets, or how awful and life-shattering this secret is, even if Hiccup decides not to be her _boyfriend_ anymore, he'll still be around. He'll still be her friend.

And she crossed the _friend_ bridge to something more once already, so who's to say she can't do it again.

She doesn't even know when it happened, but it's suddenly abundantly clear that she loves Hiccup more than she hates what happened to her.

00000

"Hey Henry," Gerard greets, falsely cheerful as he pushes inside after a lengthy happy hour with a few guys from the office. Hiccup shrugs sullenly and goes back to watching TV, playing with Spike's ears as she snores, draped pathetically over his lap.

"Hey dad."

The need to parent rears up as a slow bump from escaping the tense air and the big man steps into the living room, sitting down in an easy chair with a too loud whoosh. Hiccup raises his eyebrows in his father's direction, offering him the TV remote with a listless sigh.

"What are you watching?" Gerard asks, rubbing his hands together and leaning forward in a conversational invite.

"Food Network," Hiccup answers plainly, staring at the eager chef shredding chicken like he's about to cook an answer.

How to make your ravenous girlfriend tell you everything she doesn't want to tell you.

Tonight at 8:30 or 7:30 central.

"I didn't know you were interested in cooking," Gerard comments pseudo-cheerfully.

"I'm not."

"Oh."

Hiccup looks awkwardly at the clock on the wall, wondering just how long he has to pretend to be ok this time. His father shifts, leaning forward in a portrait of an engaged politician.

"Astrid watches it," he admits with a faked nonchalant shrug. "She says at first it makes her hungry, but if she watches long enough, it starts to feel like she's eaten." He smiles sadly, "I think it's just a ploy for me to get her food."

"You miss her," Gerard comments quietly and Hiccup barely nods.

"I mean, no one has punched me in a week. I'm going soft."

"Compared to that girl, we're all soft," his father comments before clamming up. There are some conversations he vowed not to step into when he first received Astrid's records.

Sure, there are sports injuries, plenty of x-rays of sprained ankles and a knee that's just slightly funny. There's also an MRI scan with dozens of shadowy, healed breaks and blushes of abdominal bruising he couldn't bear to think about. It's obvious why she left home, it's obvious why she needed somewhere to go.

He wasn't always the best father to Henry…but he'd never _hurt_ his own blood like that.

"What do you mean?" Hiccup asks with the stomach dropping fear of stepping out onto ice of a questionable thickness. He wishes they could just say it.

Astrid's father is horrible. Astrid's father beat her like a disgusting coward.

If anyone talked about it, as awkward as it would be, maybe it would help…something. It seems wrong to do it when she's on another continent, like laying an emotional bear trap for her to come home to.

Astrid doesn't do well trapped.

"Why are you two fighting?" Gerard asks, fully aware that he shouldn't exactly be wedging his nose in here. Then again, Astrid is 4 days from 18, and he's going to use the full extension of his parenting rights. "If you don't mind filling me in."

"Way to change the subject, dad."

"I'm just trying to help—"

"I can confidently say, Dad, that I don't need any help with this particular _topic_—"

"Now, I don't want you to rush into anything, but…well, if you two are having sex—"

"Why would you even bring that up?" Hiccup's voice cracks in embarrassment and Spike jolts awake, worriedly licking his chin.

"You just—" Gerard blushes, and wishes he'd had that talk with Henry years ago, at least that would have been a warm up for _this_. "I think that given Astrid's family—"

"What does _that_ have to do with us—Oh." Hiccup blinks as hazy pieces of a butchered clue float together like a ransom note in his mind.

Ruff said her father was to blame.

He's thought about it before, but he has more shards of the truth now. She said it was about her father, and so did Ruff. The crying, the fear of him touching—

But Scott.

The football player throws that wrench back into Hiccup's mental construction. They weren't private about it. He can't imagine Scott being in on some G-rated, grandiose scheme where they rocked his car in late night parking lots, giggling fully clothed in the backseat.

And locker room talk does trickle to the general population.

Fact is, Hiccup spent years hearing stuff he didn't want to about the only girl who ever interested him, and Scott just isn't that creative.

"Maybe you should go ask her," Gerard cuts his son off, panicking as his too quick thoughts drift darkly towards anger.

"What?" Hiccup asks. "She'll be home next week, and it's spring break, I'll have plenty of time to ask her then."

"I never cancelled the plane tickets," Hiccup's father admits, more upset than he probably should be about the smoking gap in his wallet.

"I told you I didn't want to go," Hiccup insists, suddenly angry that his dad barely even pretended to take his conviction seriously.

"I think you should go. And it can be a birthday present for Astrid," he tries not to order Hiccup, but it still comes across in the imperative.

"Why? Because of money I didn't ask you to spend?" He snaps, standing up and almost growling in frustration when he instinctively leans too far left and has to correct his balance. "I know Astrid is the daughter you never had, but she told me to break up with her when she gets home. She's pretty damn close to perfect, but _we_ really aren't."

"Interesting that if she's so done with you, she doesn't want to break up with you," Gerard comments quietly and Hiccup frowns.

"Yes, she does. That's why she told me—Oh." His mouth falls slightly open as his brain reels for the second time since his father sat down. "She's not dumping me."

He guesses he's been _relieved_ that she hasn't dumped him…so relieved that he never realized the significance. She kissed him first. She said she loved him first.

She could have dumped him. But she didn't.

"Exactly, so you should convince her you're not done either."

"From Scotland," Hiccup adds skeptically.

"Exactly."

"What if I am done?" He asks, unsure of how hypothetical he really is.

Not that he's done with _her_. He wants to be there for her, and he wants to help her.

Wouldn't it be easier at this point to just be her _friend_? He'd give up kissing for _her_. He'd rather have Astrid as a friend and be completely, horribly single than live through any more of this. Watching her fall apart at proximity is way worse than gaping at her from afar.

Or if friends works, gaping from the next bedroom over.

Plus, she talked to him when they were _friends_, she leaned on him more when they'd just met than she ever does now. If he could just get back to that…maybe he could fix this, fix them.

"You don't sound done."

"How do you know?" Hiccup snaps, sick of everyone butting their head in and trying to help. Sure they want the _best_ for him, but it always involves ignoring something he says.

Right, like him ignoring Astrid when she says she's fine.

"I was married to your mother for 15 years."

"Astrid isn't mom," Hiccup insists, more for stubbornness sake than anything else.

"And you're not me."

"Right, in this conversation, you must be Astrid, because you two know all about how apparently asking people to break up with you is a cry for help," he snarks, gesturing broadly with twitchy, frustrated fingers. "And that means I'm mom. Wow, I feel so _not_ weird about this at all."

"You're more like her every day."

"So she was in love with someone _insane_?" Hiccup asks, rapidly running out of indignance.

"She would have agreed to that."

"Thanks, dad." Hiccup nods, "I'll—I'll think about it."

"Non-refundable," Gerard reminds him quietly and Hiccup nods.

"Yeah, I got that part."

"Just making myself clear," the man defends quietly.

"Gotcha."

00000

Friday, 2/14 – Valentine's Day

Monday, 2/17 – Blind Side with Ruff, Meet Heather at Prosthesist

Tuesday, 2/18 – Push-up bra premier, Dinner with Jerry, Bowling with Heather

Wednesday, 2/19 – Knock out Tuff's tooth

Thursday, 2/20 – Talk with Scot Nout

Friday, 2/21 – Inhaler adventure

Saturday, 2/22 – Angry Make-out, Fishlegs at Home Depot

Sunday, 2/23 – Video Games with Heather

Monday, 2/24 – Stay home from school and make-up

Tuesday, 2/25 – Heather drops by for Research, Talk with Gobber

Thursday, 2/27 – The infamous bending incident, Lesbian relations with Ruff

Friday, 2/28 – Official 'break', Empathetic Track meet, Movie with Heather

Saturday, 3/1 – Sex Talk with Fishlegs, Nighttime talk

Sunday, 3/2 – Couch "napping", Night Hike with Ruff

Monday, 3/3 – Hung-over morning

Tuesday, 3/4 – Astrid leaves for Worlds

Wednesday, 3/5 – Movie with Heather, Astrid talks to her team, Hiccup talks with Jerry

00000

**I love it a little too much when Hiccup takes Heather's cup and hurls it across the room. And can I say I'm pretty goddamn excited for the next chapter? **

**And I'm glad to see Astrid figuring things out. It only took a little nudge to realize what she's already worked for, and just how loathe she is to lose all of that. And that's some intriguing information that Hiccup's dad is delivering there…**

**And not to get anyone too excited, but chapter 18 does satisfy that M rating…but not in a way any of you will suspect. I'm super unrealistically excited to post it! **


	18. Chapter 18

00000

Thursday afternoon, the US Worlds team sets out at a nearly frenetic jog to survey the course. Astrid honestly can't tell whether she likes being immersed in her peers, who somehow warm up as quickly as she does. Jenny surges ahead almost immediately, long brown legs eating up ground while the rest of the team tries to drag themselves from a post-lunch fog.

Josie groans dramatically and Astrid laughs, rolling her eyes and taking a shot to nearly sprint forward, falling into step beside the girl. She can't be that much taller than Astrid, but she seems far more streamlined, attenuated to the point where she must just slip through unseen gaps in the air, rather than push the atmosphere aside like everyone else.

Neither of them says anything for a moment, and Astrid wonders if her silence is quite this powerful. She really hopes so, it'd make her feel deserving.

"Hey," Astrid greets, her voice breathy in the back of her throat as she checks her watch. Wow, less than a four minute half mile on a warm-up. She's thankful for the sea-level air, and all the time she's had to put in extra mileage.

When she's not fighting with him, Hiccup isn't exactly the best thing for her running career. It's harder than she ever would have thought to leave bony uncomfortable arms

"Hi," the other girl answers, a little confused and mysterious in a way Astrid wishes she could pull off. It strikes her that this might be one of the first times she's felt admiration like this, if she doesn't count finding Congressman Haddock's ancient football jersey in the basement, embroidered and blood stained and official.

"So…" Astrid starts hesitantly, before wondering when she picked up these common conversational tropes. She guesses it has to do with talking a lot more, between actually becoming friends with Ruff, and constantly communicating with Hiccup. Right now, with the words fighting her breath for rights to her mouth, it seems more than a little ridiculous and she tries again. "Jenny isn't your real name."

"It's Akpenamawu."

"It's ok if I call you Jenny though," Astrid surmises with a laugh, glancing around for the team that's falling behind them. She feels pretty good though, and she realizes she's the only person coming from high altitude.

She imagines Jenny after a couple months in Colorado, and is glad for whatever advantage she has.

"You're Astrid."

"Yeah."

"You got third at Nationals," the girl recalls and Astrid glowers at her in spite of her better intentions.

"So that's my claim to fame," she rolls her eyes and Jenny frowns.

"You have fame?"

"Right, _thanks_," Astrid quips bitterly before backpedalling. "Sorry, that was sarcasm."

"I am in America for five years, and I still do not understand that," Jenny has the grace to laugh and Astrid lets herself relax.

"Where do you live?"

"With my parents Carol and Bob in New York," she answers with a practiced shrug. "You?"

"Denver," Astrid answers shortly, but the other girl doesn't seem to catch her tone.

"That's by mountains?" Jenny asks, suddenly both powerful and a lot nicer than Astrid. It's sobering to say the least.

"Yeah, so I guess I have altitude on my side." She furthers the conversation, breathing a little too hard around her words. Jesus, how fast would she be if she'd had a training partner this entire time? She starts to look forward to college. They're something about pushing above a worthy crowd that's more scintillating than leading the pack by eons. "Anyway…"

"You are asking me about the war back home," Jenny fills in, astute in that sage way everyone else seems to be. Astrid really needs to figure out why everyone can read her mind.

Even Scott guessed in the right general direction.

"Curiosity killed the cat—" Astrid blurts before snapping her mouth shut, feeling beyond idiotic. That's the only time she's ever regurgitated that cliché in her life, and of course the recipient of her canned words doesn't understand at all. "Yeah, I guess I'm curious."

"Normally people don't ask."

"They probably think it's rude…unless you think it's rude, then it's—" How would she respond if someone asked her what it was like for her growing up? Maybe thinking about that question is more useful than stuttering through all the nonsense in the world.

She'd hit them probably, then she'd feel really out of control and pissed off about hitting them. She hates it when her hands hurt.

If she were going to answer, what would she say? Would she tell them that she thought it was normal for dads to act like that until she started having sleepovers at her friends' houses and their dads were nice? Would she tell them what it was like to take her first hard punch at 10 years old, and how she thought her chest was going to cave in on itself?

Or would she lie, would she say it wasn't so bad, it was only when he was mad. It was understandable, she was a horribly feisty little person sometimes, and he just didn't handle it very well. She sustained under the shelter of that horrible lie for years, and now it feels like childhood's parka, too small and irreconcilable with the person she is now.

"It was my life. It was hard," Jenny says simply, instructive even as her eyes drift far away and her legs churn faster at the ground. It's not a struggle to keep up anymore, and somewhere in the back of Astrid's mind, hopes for the race tomorrow well and bleed into her consciousness.

"I shouldn't have asked."

"I think you relate," the other girl sneaks a sideways glance at Astrid. "Your eyes don't lie yet."

"Anymore. They don't lie anymore," she insists upon the distinction, determined not to end up back where she was when she was fourteen.

"They lie to the others."

"Well, not everyone relates," Astrid shrugs. "I don't want to make you say anything you don't want to…but how is it after five years?" She asks, hating the way vulnerability bleeds through her heaving voice.

"A bad dream," Jenny smiles. "Race you to two miles?" She gestures to the green sign ahead and Astrid grins.

"You're on."

It's a mad sprint, legs flying past beneath them like wind as Astrid pulls barely ahead with a grimace and roar, flying past the sign ten feet ahead of her _friend_. She pulls up into a slow jog and they fall back into step beside each other, pace dramatically slower for the dash.

"Your kick scares me," Jenny admits openly and Astrid tries to laugh, coughing as her throat comes back parched.

"I'm glad."

"And I have advice about living through horrible things," the dark girl chokes out quietly through heaving breaths. "You have to face what scares you exactly."

"I'll do that as soon as I get home," Astrid lies, her father's face a terrifying backdrop. She wonders if he heard about her stunt at track last week. She hopes it made him drink himself sick.

She's not ready to see him, and that's something she knows absolutely. But well…she committed to doing what she needed to do to fix this with Hiccup. She committed herself to adjusting. She'll do what she has to so that she's normal enough for Hiccup. Put together enough for Hiccup.

Sure, he can put on the finishing touches, like he always has. But no one can facilitate this but _her_.

"Not _who_, but _what_," Jenny corrects. "Who is ok, but _what_ helps. I was afraid of guns, but last year I went to a range, and felt finally better."

"You didn't need to face the men with the guns?" Astrid asks, genuinely too confused to worry about her breach in etiquette.

"They are on the other side of the world. But the guns are here."

"Thanks Jenny," Astrid cuts the conversation off with gratitude, reverting into her own mind as her breath finally evens out from all the talking, and sprinting, and embarrassing herself with things she shouldn't ask.

She guesses her version of a gun here would be…well, what she already so completely terrified and demolished last week. Well, not Hiccup's self-esteem, his _dick_.

It's not exactly in the cards to hunt down the nearest penis and go to town desensitizing herself.

But what if…what if the weapon isn't the scary thing? Guns are scary because they hurt people, knifes are terrifying because they make people bleed, rupturing the barrier between in and out. Fists bruise and break.

Words demolish.

She's afraid of what the _weapon_ can do. She's afraid of feeling small, or demeaned…and what she's afraid of…did it ever feel good? Feeling good could control her. Occasionally with Scott, it was less than awful, and there doesn't seem to be anything terrible about admitting that. Sometimes it almost felt like something worth repeating, almost left her with something other than disgusting mingled sweat. But the other times?

Maybe she doesn't _want_ to feel good, and that's why it never really felt right with Scott. Why it never passed into something _nice_. Maybe the dam would break and suddenly she'd be too weak to hold onto her hate and revulsion.

She's not clueless, she caught porn on Scott's history too many times, and she's walked in on a red-faced, surprisingly awake Hiccup first thing in the morning. And like everything else inappropriate, Ruff isn't exactly quiet about _missing_ Fishlegs if he's not at her beck and call for some reason for a few days.

It's normal to want the physicality, to miss it when it's not there, but she's just now realizing how deeply _uncomfortable_ that makes her. What if it reminds her of _him_?

But what if it doesn't? What if it's nice, and not a big deal and all this freaking out has been over next to nothing?

But is it different when someone else does it?

How is she about to turn eighteen without learning any of this?

She suddenly feels woefully behind, and she runs faster, rounding through the finish of the race, neck and neck with Jenny as they fall to a walk under the half assembled banner. It's strange to walk through the ghost of a tape she knows she won't be breaking, but there's something inspiring in the change, something that makes her excited to up the stakes in college.

Something is wrong when college is less insurmountable than her own nerve endings.

"You're fast," Jenny tells her as they wait for the rest of the team to slog through the finish line, laughing about something or other.

Astrid can't help but wonder if they…relieve the pressure, and the inappropriate thought makes her flush.

"Planning to be right with you tomorrow," she laughs, too high pitched, pushing her sweat damp bangs off of her forehead.

"We will see," Jenny smiles, teeth bright white against her dark skin. The rest of the team congregates around them, chattering excitedly, their exercise warm breath puffing in white clouds.

"What do you two say to food? We better start carb loading now…" Erin offers, elbowing Astrid affectionately in the ribs. She jumps away awkwardly, stance uncomfortably aggressive as she plants her feet firmly into solid ground. She forces herself to soften, slouching in a mockery of exhaustion before she knows what else to do.

"Actually, I think I'm going to go get cleaned up," Astrid blurts, edging away from the center of the crowd and dramatically fanning herself with her sweatshirt. "I just got….really sweaty, and I'm going to go take a shower."

"Do you feel ok?" Erin asks, genuinely concerned, and emulating Hiccup is the only other avenue besides screaming. She squeaks.

"I think I need a nap, honestly. Probably just jetlag," she defends, glowering at Jenny, who looks far too concerned. "I'll catch up with you guys later? For actual dinner?" She leaves with a wave over her shoulder, jogging up the hill towards her hotel.

She's utterly sure that whatever Jenny thinks is going on with her, it's definitely not the truth.

She remembers losing her virginity months before Ruff, and the posse of other girls she'd managed not to alienate at the time. The lofty status that came along with that was truly victorious, and she'd embellished the experience with words she still hasn't figured out yet.

Why did she think _explosive_ was a good descriptor?

And she's pretty sure she didn't even use ecstasy as the right part of speech. Not that there was anything ecstatic about that generally uncomfortable, sort of painful first time.

It's not even that it was unnaturally bad or anything. She's not exactly sporting world class birthing hips, and she was young, and he was too strong for his own good. She remembers waiting for the finale, for some magical switch to flick in her brain. She's starting to realize that she knows next to nothing, and that's not at all shocking, given the way her search for physical maturity was cut off at the knees.

Astrid slows to a heaving walk, slipping around a group of short, olive skinned girls in the lobby prattling in rapid Italian, and trotting up the flight of stairs to her generically nice hotel room. She deftly unlocks the door and steps inside, leaning back against the door and exhaling.

She doesn't have to do this now, does she?

But there's something scintillating about overcoming it. It's like her past is staring her in the face, daring her to charge, guessing confidently that she'll flake out.

She throws her sweatshirt over her head, taking her tank top with it and staring apprehensively down at her sweaty stomach. What is she even intending to do here? Her endgame is foggy, floating on the horizon like a far off promised sunrise, and she toes off her shoes and socks, curling her toes in the short burred carpet.

How do people do this? Do they just get naked and start rubbing?

Guys have it so easy, it's pretty goddamn obvious for them, isn't it?

Why does she want this to work so badly? Will she really be fixed if this feels good? What's she going to do, call up Hiccup and proclaim that she masturbated, and now she's ready to bang him?

Would that work?

"Goddammit!" She swears to herself, frustrated as she strips the rest of the way and deadbolts the door behind her, triple checking the lock.

She is _broken_, she's being timid even with herself now, and it's insane. She hates this. She stares at the full length mirror across the room, feeling short and bare. She reaches up and pulls the tie from her hair, shaking it around her shoulders in a golden halo.

Well, she's pretty. That much is obvious.

She's also straight, as she very recently established, and she's not exactly sure where to go from here. Do girls watch porn? Or girls aside from Ruff?

Even if they do, she's not sure she wants to see sex right now, if she can't even take _feeling_ it without being a complete spaz.

She rests a gentle hand flat on her stomach and slides it up slowly, thumb slipping in the sweat still drenching her cleavage. Her fingers tap a staccato against the tight drum of her ribs. She can't seem to stop staring at herself, completely confused and stilted by what she sees.

Ok, this isn't working.

Maybe…maybe she should actually shower. Maybe she should just shower and forget about this whole stupid plan. She'll figure this out someday, and right now she needs to be worrying about running the race of her life tomorrow. She slouches to the bathroom, her sweaty feet sticking to the tile as she cranks the faucet to hot, waiting impatiently for the room to fill with steam.

The water feels absolutely divine on her sore, still warm muscles and Astrid sighs, relaxing into the stream and hanging her head. The water splashing on the back of her neck echoes the drum of her heartbeat, and after a moment, she can almost forget what she needs to do.

Well, _obviously_ she can't do it with sweaty, greasy hair. Of course not.

She grabs her shampoo, staring pensively at the wall as she works her hair into a lather. Does she really _need _to do this, per say?

Probably.

Especially if her current plan is to be alone and reserved for the foreseeable future. It's already happening, her body is getting over its issues before her brain and dragging her down confusing, conflicted paths to nowhere good. She could handle everything better if she just figured out how to _handle _herself.

Eww, it's like Scott wrote a commercial for female masturbation.

She rinses her shampoo out and combs through a dollop of conditioner, stepping out of the water to let it soak. Leaning back against the cold wall is bracing, and fools her into her thinking her head is still on straight. She fumbles a hotel soap bar from its wax paper wrapper and almost hesitates before smoothing it utilitarian over her skin. If she concentrates, she guesses this feels _nice_ in a muted sort of way. Maybe that's the key, and she's been reaching for fireworks when a campfire is more realistic.

Astrid sets the bar of soap down and smoothes the foam lazily around her upper body, focusing on her armpits and the line of her cleavage where sweat always seems to collect. It does feel…good, and she grins, letting her hand slip down to cup her right breast and squeeze lightly.

Definitely comforting, but she knows that from the habitual placement of her hands whenever she tries to get comfortable on restless nights. She feels nothing monumental on the chest end, no significant pleasure. That must really be completely a guy thing, but it doesn't seem so horrible either.

A part of her regrets not letting Hiccup _try_.

She wonders how it would have felt, and how he would have touched her. She imagines he'd probably be excessively gentle at first, and lets her thumb trace a fairy light line across the top of her breast. She imagines it's Hiccup's long-fingered, freckled hand and her stomach jolts, warmth blooming in her core like a whiskey burn.

Her hand flies off of her skin like she's on fire and she steps forward, breathing too hard as she rinses the soap and combs her fingers through her hair. She closes her eyes and tips her head back, letting the water run down the plains of her face.

What is she doing?

This is ridiculous.

A too curious hand slides down and grips the fuzz between her legs and she frowns, staring down at herself. She can't keep doing this, she's already clean and if she stays in her any longer, her hair is going to dry frizzy and her bangs are going to be in her face for her entire race tomorrow.

The conditioner practically jumps back into her hand and she slathers her hair, turning back to lean against the wall. Her hand fumbles across her thigh to rest between her legs, and her free fingers drum against the tile disjointedly. After another too long moment of apprehension, she dives in, slipping her middle finger into herself up to its second joint. Her body clamps down and she exhales semi-shakily, more perturbed emotionally than physically. A few calming breaths later, she's wiggled the digit the rest of the way in, and she smiles to herself.

This isn't bad. Not world-changing, or mind-blowing, but definitely not _bad_.

She wiggles her finger artlessly and frowns, wondering if it's different when someone else does it. Scott tried it once, and she jerked up so fast that she head-butted him in the face and gave him a bloody nose. She shakes the thoughts of Scott away, and lets her mind slowly drift to Hiccup's hands as she does her best to relax, carefully feeling around.

Hiccup's fingers would be longer and thicker, wouldn't they? She approximates this, slipping her ring finger in alongside her middle one and pressing them as deep as she can. This makes her palm grind down wetly against her clit and she gasps, locking her knees to keep from falling. She bites her lower lip and repeats the motion, rubbing the heel of her hand experimentally against herself.

That's…well, that's definitely worth continuing.

Is she supposed to think about something? Is she supposed to imagine something _hot _or _sexy_ or any of those things that make her so uncomfortable?

What does she find hot? She ponders, rocking forward and pressing against her hand, focusing on the distractingly sharp tingle spreading from between her legs.

Honestly, Hiccup. Hiccup is hot.

She likes his stupid floppy hair, and his gap-toothed smile, and the way his shirt rides up and shows the stark line of his hipbone against his side. She very suddenly wants to _lick_ him, and her hand twitches against her flesh. She bites her lip.

And she doesn't understand how his ass got _better_ after he lost a foot. She wants to grab it, and when she really thinks about it, she's wanted to grab it for months. And he's so…clueless, that he doesn't realize what he does, he doesn't think that it's _there_ and he doesn't realize that his pants are way tighter than they used to be and…unf.

A moan escapes from low in her throat and she freezes, suddenly awkward as her feet readjust against the tile. Is this odd? Is this strange? Or is this completely, utterly normal?

She bites her lip and forges onward, raiding her brain for something else _hot_. _Tempting_.

Hiccup.

She's stuck thinking of Hiccup. His throat and his shoulders, and the way his hand feels when it wraps around her side or her arm, pulling her closer to him. His smile, his laugh. Those abs he doesn't even really know that he has. The way that his shoulders seem to get wider every day, and the way that she feels when she's tucked up close against him, leg over that narrow waist, trying to fall asleep and refusing to understand why it's difficult.

It's difficult because she _wants_ Hiccup. She does. She has for longer than she'd like to admit.

She probably wanted him while she was still with Scott.

But she definitely wants him _now_. She wishes he were here, embarrassment be damned. Screw awkwardness, she wants him in the shower with her. She wants him on her bed, against the wall, _naked_ in the chair in the corner. On top of her, that ass in her hands.

Her hips buck forward as she rubs a again, determined this time, and she falls into a slow, grinding rhythm, eyes squinted shut as she tries to relax against the wall. Her toes curl against the porcelain of the tub as the pleasure starts to contract, her hand moving nearly frantically against herself. It takes her a minute to realize she's moaning, of all ridiculous sounds, and another moment to notice every other noise is some disgustingly wanton bastardization of Hiccup's name.

He's what she's thinking about. He's the element that turns this from taboo to enjoyable.

She wishes she could kiss him, and feel _his_ hands on her, because even from 5000 miles away, he's somehow making this worth it. Her knees twitch violently as she lets go with a whimper, her fingers suddenly soaking. She slides down the wall, sitting in the spray of the shower as her cramped, slippery hand slides to the floor of the tub with an anticlimactic thunk.

00000

Hiccup nearly screams when he sees the open-ended tickets sitting on the kitchen counter when he gets home Thursday afternoon. Astrid is running in…he does a time difference calculation he wishes he hadn't researched…she's running in ten and a half hours. He hopes she's ready.

It's not like he'd even make it for her race anyway.

He'd feel bad crashing her preparation anyway, it's not like she's going to be happy to see him.

He wonders how she'd react if he showed up on the sidelines, chastising her about time from that blue stopwatch. In his mind, she stops running and slugs him a few times before kissing him and shoving him down onto the grass and…hormones.

Really, she'd probably glare at him and run faster.

He sighs and tries to reset his thoughts, sitting down and staring at the dogs napping together in a patch of sun on the back deck, oblivious to his presence. It's too quiet, the sounds of his own thoughts crushing his ears like a rumbling rockslide. He'd kill for Astrid to be moping around the kitchen, swearing at the fridge for being out of food.

Singing in the shower and insisting he can't hear her when he calls her out on it.

Reading an essay out loud at just the right tempo to disrupt all his trains of thought simultaneously.

Telling him that she loves him.

Maybe he _should_ go, but what use is fighting on another continent? Sure, it looks great on resumes, 'fights wittily in multiple accents', but would it leave him even more miserable than he is now? Would she be even less _Astrid_ and more painfully polite than the last time he saw her?

"It's not worth thinking about," he mutters to the room at large, just to break the silence. His own voice is almost an intrusion, and he realizes he was almost _expecting_ Astrid's.

Her voice is one of his weirdest favorite things about her. It's deeper than you'd expect just looking at her, and it dips even lower when she's peeved at him, or in the middle of making out. He remembers the first time he realized he could _make_ it change, and he spent a long weekend alternately pissing her off and kissing her. By Monday, she had a sore throat she couldn't begin to explain.

The house is empty without the almost silent, highly regular echo of her footsteps. She used to sneak up on him all the time, laughing not at all kindly when he jumped a solid foot under her surprise hands on his shoulders.

"Homework, I should just do my homework, and I'm talking to myself because even my dogs are ignoring. Right bud? Man's best friend my ass—" He opens his laptop and frowns in alarm at the blue screen that winks across his desktop. "Really? Oh god, not today. Come on, no blue screen of death…" He delicately presses a few buttons and of course it doesn't flick back to normal. "Ok, restarting it is," he holds down the power button with a gingerly finger and sighs as the screen flashes black with a static click.

He counts to five and presses the button again, holding his breath until the screen comes to life, loading updates he hadn't realized he postponed.

His computer is fine and he breathes a sigh of relief as word asks if he wants to re-open the document he'd been working on.

His face goes slack.

That's it.

That's completely absolutely it.

Restart.

He just needs to restart Astrid. No, he needs to restart _them_. _HiccupAndAstrid_ just need to be rebooted.

A break is hibernation, all it did was save battery for more fights as their RAM got more and more clogged, running too many operations at once.

He needs to break up with her and count to five.

Part of him wonders how she'll determine the increments, but the rest of him is scrambling, calling the airline and name dropping like never before to wiggle his way onto the next flight. He scribbles a note on the pad on the counter for his father, making sure to include the dogs' breakfast and dinner amounts.

He doesn't notice until he's stuffing the tickets back into their envelope that there are two for the return trip.

Sneaky. He wonders if Gobber even has a return trip ticket for Astrid.

Probably that's why it's so urgent that he be convinced to go.

He checks the clock and runs back to his room, swearing under his breath as he pulls out a big enough bag, throwing clothes into it and whipping out his phone to get a ride. Toothless appears out of nowhere with Spike, wagging around his ankles, impossibly in the way.

"Fish, I need a ride to the airport," Hiccup blurts into the phone as soon as his friend picks up, and he sighs in relief when he hears Fishlegs' keys jingle on the other end.

"Finally, you have a good idea."

"What do you mean?"

"You're going to go get Astrid, aren't you?" Fishlegs affirms in a cautious voice and Hiccup laughs, his sure to be brilliant plan still new and fuzzy in his brain.

"No, I'm going to break up with her," he laughs again, but before he can explain, the line goes abruptly dead. "Fishlegs?" No answer. "Goddammit."

There's no use in trying Ruff, unless he wants a lobotomy, and Tuff is too smart to go against his sister. Barely, but still. He cringes when he resorts to dialing Scott's phone number, still packing as the phone rings three times.

"Hello?" Scott picks up and Hiccup groans, disbelieving of the level that he's sunk to.

"Hey Scott, it's Hiccup. I need a ride to the airport." He bites the bullet, speaking as quickly as he dares.

"Hell no, dude, I am _not_ helping you impress Astrid."

"What if I told you I was breaking up with her?" He cringes at how bad that sounds, internally insisting that he'll fix everything, he just needs to reset the situation.

"Yeah, right," Scott's line goes dead.

That vile feeling of cross-contamination hits him as he dials Heather's phone number. A favor seems outside their friendship, especially after he's…well, he can't be the only one feeling strange.

She picks up on the first ring.

"Hello?" Heather chirps, her voice girlish and higher than normal over the phone.

"Hey Heather, could I possibly get a ride to the airport?" He asks, the question sounding more and more desperate every time he asks it.

"Why do you need a ride to the airport at four o'clock on a Thursday?" She asks and he sighs, deciding on blunt. He's so glad Astrid taught him blunt.

"Because my flight to Glasgow leaves at six forty five."

"Is that where Astrid's race is?" Heather asks, pitch of her voice dipping seriously.

"Can I tell you in the car?" He offers, already trying to plot how he can get out of that particular conversation.

"Sure," she sighs. "I'll be there in twenty."

"Thank you," he nearly hoots, hanging up and continuing his packing frenzy.

He's just shoving his passport and boarding pass in his pocket when someone honks from the driveway. He double checks his note on the kitchen counter and bursts outside, jogging to her car and tossing his bag in the backseat as she unlocks it.

"Hey," she greets as he buckles into the passenger seat. Pulling away from the house, she drives cautiously down his driveway, making him miss Astrid's psychotic K turns.

This is going to work. It has to work.

He needs to prove that he loves her more than dating her. It doesn't matter if she never touches him again, he'll be there for _her_.

"Thanks for the ride," he grins in spite of himself, because it really is nice to have someone besides Toothless appear generally happy to see him.

"Eh, I didn't have anything better to do," she shrugs, pulling onto the main road with a careful signal. She looks both ways before turning at the highway, and Hiccup can't help but think that much safely is excessive at a time like this.

"Still, thanks."

"So you and Astrid made up again?" Heather guesses and he shrugs, remembering their awkward encounter the day before. He's starting to think something is going on that he can't quite see yet.

"Honestly, no," he almost laughs, feeling smart and scared and out of control all at once.

"But you're going to see her race?" Heather asks, almost accusingly.

"I'm going to be over Iceland during her race," Hiccup admits.

"Then what's the rush?"

"I'm sick of waiting around," he blurts, counting down exits to the airport. Maybe half an hour away. The silence is awkward, and yawns like a chasm in front of them.

"You could have come over," Heather offers after six minutes. "My parents would have been happy to have you for dinner."

"It's really ok," he grins too broadly as he brushes off the offer. "I—I thought stuff through."

"Oh?"

"Yeah," he shrugs, forcing himself serious despite the ball of anxious happiness bouncing around his brain in a series of impossibly perfect elastic collisions.

"What's up then?"

"I'm going to Glasgow," he laughs, wringing his hands together to keep them from shaking.

"So do you have some grand plan or something?" Heather asks after an awkward four minute lull in the conversation that Hiccup didn't even notice over the hyperactive buzzing of his brain.

"Something."

"Did I do something?" Heather questions and Hiccup looks at her strangely.

"Did you?"

"You're really distracted," she comments, wrinkling her nose. He notices her skin is completely smooth, more of a pale olive than anything, and he can't pull his mind from remembering the deceptive youth of Astrid's freckles. Something about their haphazard scatter on her controlled exterior is his residual anger's kryptonite.

This has to work. It's the stupidest, craziest plan he's ever had.

"Last minute transatlantic flights will do that," he snarks, and he wants to tell her the plan but thinks twice, idly biting his tongue.

"This is some sort of grand gesture to win Astrid back, I'm not stupid."

"That's not how I'm thinking about it," he hedges, tempted to tell her everything, but arrested by her suddenly bitter tone.

"Then how are you thinking of it?" She asks, drumming her fingers irritably on the steering wheel as she exits onto Pena Boulevard and the signs start the countdown at 10 miles to the airport.

"We need a reset," he shrugs, and the way her eyes are boring into the side of his face is painfully personally.

"You and Astrid?"

"Who else would I be talking about?" He asks with an awkward laugh.

"No one, I guess," she's driving in the slow lane, flirting with the solid white line on the car's right at five miles an hour under the speed limit.

"Are you ok?" He asks after a minute and she shrugs curtly in the universal female gesture of annoyance.

"I just don't get why you're trying so hard for Astrid of all people," she finally tells him, voice absolutely frigid.

"What do you mean '_of all people_'?" He questions and she laughs too hard.

"Are you kidding?" She looks at him a little too _wistfully_ and he gulps. "You two are so not right for each other. I mean, I'm surprised you lasted this long."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"To keep you from flying overseas to impress someone who doesn't deserve you," she tells him plainly and the dread grows in his chest.

She has always been comfortable with _touching_ him.

"You don't know Astrid," he says slowly, affirmation he was afraid had faded rising with every word. "She seems…She's…at first she's a bit much, but then you realize she's the best person in the world." Heather is too silent and Hiccup wishes Astrid could have heard the words that just fell out of his mouth.

"I know you," she comments and he resists the urge to roll his eyes.

"Do I like red vines?"

"You said you loved red vines—"

"Exactly," he cuts her off, slouching back into the seat and staring determined straight ahead.

"Hiccup, this isn't about candy. You just shouldn't be doing all this for someone who doesn't even seem to want to _fix_ your relationship," Heather insists.

"She's going through some stuff, she's trying to save me from it," and what he's been doubting for weeks is very suddenly true.

"Maybe you should let yourself be saved," she suggests, her tone wildly supportive.

"I don't need saving," he laughs, stronger than ever.

"You need saving more than most people, and you should be with someone who understands that," she tells him earnestly, eyes flicking to his foot.

3 miles to the terminal.

He sees United on a big blue sign and glues his eyes straight forward.

"East terminal."

"What?" She asks, obviously expecting a response. "I just told you I want to be with you."

"I'm flying United, from the East Terminal."

"I don't think you should go," Heather repeats, remarkably steadfast even though her voice is starting to shake.

"I've got to try."

"What if you fail? What if she doesn't want to _reset_?" She asks, voice more pained than seems real. Maybe he's used to Astrid's minimal emotive response, but this feels more dramatic than what would be normal.

"Then I'm single," he laughs to himself, because for once, one thing seems wonderfully black and white.

"So let me get this straight, you're flying to Scotland to break up with your girlfriend in the hopes that she'll get back together with you and everything will be fixed?"

"When you say it like that, it sounds insane."

"It is insane," she scoffs, turning into the East Terminal departure lane. "And if it doesn't work, you're going to be single, rather than take up the offer that's been right in front of you the whole time."

The car is too silent.

"The first time we ever talked, I told you that I had a girlfriend," he defends quietly, trying to shake feeling responsible for her melancholy tone.

"That didn't stop me from falling for you," she says too plainly, and all he can do is wonder how many times she practiced that in front of the mirror.

"Why?" He asks simply, remembering Astrid's heartfelt answer to the same question months ago when he was naked in the shower, and they were still fumbling to get together.

He sees solutions. He loves things because he sees the _good_ in them, and not for any other reason.

"I don't know, I just—"

"You…" He stops himself, "There has to be a reason."

"We're the same," she professes. "We wake up every morning and do the same thing, and I'll never have that with anyone else." He exhales.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, a more astute part of himself had been assuming an answer like that. 

It still hurts.

Short Henry. Geeky Henry. One-legged Henry.

Hiccup.

He wants more than one descriptor. He wants to be a full person, not a mascot or an emblem.

"It doesn't matter what you do in the morning," he insists quietly as she pulls up outside of the United doors. "It's who you're with."

"I want to be with you," she says and he can hear the tears pooling in her throat. He wants to comfort her, but that feels absolutely, utterly dangerous.

"Heather, you'll find someone."

"I want you."

"Come on, don't cry—"

"Do you even think I'm pretty?" She asks, visible to him for the first time, completely bare without the guise and pomp of her leg. Without the social crutch of predestined individuality, she seems to shrink.

"Honestly, I…," he shakes his head, fingers itching on the door handle. "Astrid said you were though."

"So, I could make her jealous?" Heather half asks, half offers and Hiccup shakes his head.

"No, it—I'm not going to do that. Even if she dumps me, she's the one I want," he says plainly. "Do you really want a guy who wants someone else?"

He never thought he'd be talking a pretty girl out of liking him. He looks at the car clock and cringes. He's so late. So so late.

"But we would work," she insists through tears. "You'd just have to give it a shot."

"Heather, two legs don't make a pair, it's not like a jigsaw puzzle. It's not that simple," he snaps, too cheeky. Her face falls and he takes the chance to climb out of the car and grab his bag from the backseat. He leans back in against the glove box, feeling like the world's biggest jerk and wishing he cared more. He needs to get to this flight. "Are you ok to drive?"

"Like you care," she snaps, and he can relate to the anger better than any of the sadness. Maybe that's the real problem. Astrid is sad but acting mad, and they both thought they liked it better that way.

"Your leg…I know sometimes it feels like the biggest thing in the world, but it doesn't have to be."

"You're _new_," she blurts through a reluctant sob. "How do you know so much?"

"I had help," and they both know who he means. Heather nods in miserable understanding. "Will I talk to you when I get back?"

"Probably not. At least for a while," she tells him, nodding curtly. He gives her a small smile and pushes off, shutting the car door.

It feels final.

00000

Friday, 2/14 – Valentine's Day

Monday, 2/17 – Blind Side with Ruff, Meet Heather at Prosthesist

Tuesday, 2/18 – Push-up bra premier, Dinner with Jerry, Bowling with Heather

Wednesday, 2/19 – Knock out Tuff's tooth

Thursday, 2/20 – Talk with Scot Nout

Friday, 2/21 – Inhaler adventure

Saturday, 2/22 – Angry Make-out, Fishlegs at Home Depot

Sunday, 2/23 – Video Games with Heather

Monday, 2/24 – Stay home from school and make-up

Tuesday, 2/25 – Heather drops by for Research, Talk with Gobber

Thursday, 2/27 – The infamous bending incident, Lesbian relations with Ruff

Friday, 2/28 – Official 'break', Empathetic Track meet, Movie with Heather

Saturday, 3/1 – Sex Talk with Fishlegs, Nighttime talk

Sunday, 3/2 – Couch "napping", Night Hike with Ruff

Monday, 3/3 – Hung-over morning

Tuesday, 3/4 – Astrid leaves for Worlds

Wednesday, 3/5 – Movie with Heather, Astrid talks to her team, Hiccup talks with Jerry

Thursday, 3/6 – Hiccup to airport, Astrid works to overcome her fear

00000

**Woohoo. I love this chapter more than I should. I was so excited when I figured out that Astrid would…discover herself in the same chapter that Hiccup dealt with Heather. **

**I'm so proud of both of them. **

**I'm so unbelievably nervous about this chapter. Mostly the first half of this chapter, so I really really really would love some feedback. I know that it's because the holidays, but the reviews have definitely been a bit slower the last few chapters, and if it's because the quality has been going down, I'd really like you guys to tell me. I do take that feedback to heart, and all constructive criticism does make this story better! **

**That being said, I know how lucky I am to get the reviews that I always do, and thank you all for that! **


	19. Chapter 19

00000

Astrid wakes up at six, looking around her hotel room and staring at her phone.

It's…last night back home. He might pick up, right? He wouldn't ignore her call. He wouldn't.

She doesn't even know what she wants to hear. She knows that she's ready, she knew she felt great as soon as she opened her eyes. Her muscles aren't even tight from yesterday's run, and if she's honest…she's a little less high strung.

She might repeat yesterday in this morning's shower, get nice and calmed down. She guesses all this relationship havoc is almost good, in a way, because she should be a lot more nervous for the biggest race of her life.

She's more nervous for what comes after.

Anyway, he'll pick up. He'll completely pick up.

She snatches her phone off of the bed-side table and unplugs the charger with shaking fingers. It's too easy to dial Hiccup's number, it's like her fingers are excited, fumbling over the keys. She presses send and holds the phone to her ear.

It goes straight to voicemail and she sighs, listening a little too long to his voice. She doesn't hang up in time for the tone and her mouth flaps wordlessly before she manages to say _something_.

"Hey…I know it's umm…I love you, alright? And when I get home, we need to talk about stuff because I want—I want to make this work, and there's a lot you need to know. I'll have my phone, umm…call me back? But after five hours from now," she finishes awkwardly. "I love you."

00000

Astrid bounces on her toes at the starting line, craning her neck over Josie, peeking around Jenny and trying not to be angry that she's not in front. She hasn't started in the pack since 9th grade, and she's never felt claustrophobic like this. On either side of her, girls are prattling too quickly in spinning languages that she doesn't understand, and the sounds blur together with the frantic pounding of her heart.

Someone says good luck and pats her on the shoulder, but she's already too disturbed to put the kind words together with Erin standing behind her.

The gun goes off and the pack flies forward, obviously a different field than anything she's raced before. The talent builds on itself and the girls fly around a corner like a single organism, pounding thunder into the ground.

Astrid pulls away at the second grassy turn, surging even with Josie and focusing on outdoing her friend with long, fluid strides.

And suddenly, no matter how strong or inspiring or downright friendly her team is, this is a competition. And competition is black and white, win and lose, and she understands. She strides forward into eighth place and holds there, breathing too hard but too preoccupied to really care. She can see Jenny eating the ground ahead of her, flirting with fourth place.

Astrid remembers her very first race, floating in second and being pulled inexorably forward by the first place girl. She lets herself lock onto Jenny and tries to relax, doing anything to drown out what sounds like Josie's labored breathing behind her. The 5:32 first mile is equally terrifying and inspiring, and she staves off thoughts of crashing by the halfway point.

As much as she appreciates the hyper-legible digital sign at the mile marker, she can't help but wish it were Hiccup.

Even though she couldn't admit it at the time, he made her run faster. Knowing he'd be waiting at the pivotal corners made her eager to run, eager to impress him.

He's the impressive one.

Her knee starts to ache on the flat plane leading to two miles, where she and Jenny raced the day before. She's a hundred fifty meters behind her friend, and wonders if the other girl is still scared of her kick.

Hiccup would probably tell her that _of course_ everyone is scared of her, but her kick has absolutely nothing to do with it.

She smiles absurdly to herself, once again caught in the trap that mental Hiccup is better than no Hiccup at all, but a scant shadow compared to the real thing. If she could predict what he said, he'd lose a portion of his charm.

3 miles is 17:12, and she grits her teeth, surging forward to make a move. The seventh place girl is Hungarian, she thinks. The flag on her bouncing uniform is blurry in Astrid's windblown eyes as she surges around the outside during a turn, watching the race ahead of her like a spectator and trying to ignore her burning lungs.

A couple of girls from Kenya are duking it out, followed by a couple other long-legged dark skinned blobs. Jenny is battling for every step with a girl from Japan, and Astrid is hovering at fifty paces, gaining slowly for fear of burning out.

The temptation to kick and catch up is overwhelming, even as her knee throws a snipping tantrum, sending her leg into sporadic wobbles every other step. Gobber is parked at mile 4, screaming wildly as she passes, supplying the war cry that she needed but couldn't possibly make at this time.

She inches ahead, hearing the eighth place girl drop away behind her. Maybe Josie can catch her, that would be fantastic. Sixth, seventh, and eighth would put the team in good position, no matter what's going on behind them.

Half mile to go. Astrid grits her teeth and thinks her legs longer.

Quarter mile, and the lawn stretches out in front of her, impossibly long and vast.

The first and second girls dash through the finish in a breakneck spring, followed by a trickling third and fourth. Astrid's lungs burn like acid as she pushes against the ground, pretending it's her father's face and growling low in her throat as she draws out that last bit of enthusiasm, surging towards the girls ahead of her.

Jenny is slowing, muscles twitching with fatigue Astrid can see from 30 feet back. The other girl pulls away, single red dot on her jersey a gloating eye as she nabs fifth.

10 feet behind Jenny.

5.

Astrid gets seventh to her friend by an arms-length and bends forward, heaving out her breakfast onto the grass through a relieved grin.

00000

Astrid shoves her hands in the pockets of her fleece, almost sulking down the street from her hotel. The foreign money feels crispy in her pocket, tucked against her turned off phone as she turns the corner, breath foggy in the crisp, still winter air.

7th, 2nd. She's happy with the numbers, happy with the team's overall 3rd place.

She's genuinely excited to compete in college, excited to be recognized at a higher level, excited that she's on the short list for _Olympic_ trials, world teams.

She wants to tell Hiccup.

The relatively newfound need to communicate is suffocating, the almost sea-level air oppressively thick. She feels heavy, miserable, and ridiculous for pushing him away, for opting out of a chance at _reality_. She's spent her whole life sweeping sadness under a glittery rug, and when it all came out at once, she couldn't handle it. She couldn't turn around and make face with the absolutely overwhelming realization that _everything_ was fucked up.

She loves Hiccup too much to drag him into her stupid issues. She's never had a shoulder to lean on, never needed one. She'd always solved everything herself.

Except she hadn't _solved_ anything at all. She'd just put it off, recycled emotions as anger and steel until Hiccup split her open with a look, and all the toxic sludge spilled out like poison.

She wishes Hiccup were here, she wants to _apologize,_ wants to explain.

Explain that she's _scared_, scared that he'll cease to be Hiccup, scared that she's damaged and he won't stick around to deal with all of it. Scared to ask him to deal with her, like she's some sort of problem. Scared that she put off _fixing_ it for too long, and she's locked, jammed so hard between the rock and the hard place that she's a part of the scenery.

She's punch him so _hard_ if he says anything about her being scared.

Then she'll fix everything that she's broken. She'll fix his self-esteem, and that closeness that they hardly feed anymore, and they'll be together.

In a perfect world.

The cobblestones are starting to come alive, tourists and Friday night celebrators pouring into the streets as bars amplify, thumping music carrying on the wind. She wishes she were a week older, she could use a drink. She laughs humorlessly to herself at the timing, again defaulting to wishing Hiccup were here. He'd buy her a drink, once she talked a couple laps around his moral dilemma and kissed him into agreement.

Everything comes back to Hiccup, doesn't it? 

She feels like she's _sloshing_, functional but empty without him here. She's whole, but so much less than she could be, so much _smaller_ than she wants to be. Sometimes one plus one feels like three, an impenetrable wall of their bond stretching between them as its own entity, a banner against evil she could handle but doesn't want to.

She doesn't _need_ Hiccup, explicitly. The wounds would heal, soft spots on her heart re-hardening as she pulls back from everything.

But she wants him.

She wants his goofy smile and brave kisses, his squeaky limp and ridiculous bedhead. She wants the way that he's impressed by _her_, not by anything that she does or exudes. She wants to love leaning on him sometimes, wants to look forward to falling limp and knowing that someone has her back.

Here, in a city she's never been to, never even thought of really, everything still reminds her of him. She knows he'd brave the cold to hold her hand, and she'd let him, rolling her eyes and loving it secretly. She can imagine him tripping over cracks, laughing at his clumsiness and pretending like it doesn't bother him. She knows what his relieved expression would look like, when she caught him with a hand under his armpit.

The first thing she's going to do when she gets home is apologize. She's not going to give him a chance to break up with her. She's going to—

"Oof!" Astrid stumbles backwards from the sudden impact, catching herself on a nearby stone wall, feet slipping on the perpetually damp road. "Watch where you're going! I mean—sorry," She blurts, pulling herself out of the dregs of her thoughts, stepping forward and picking up a too familiar duffle bag, slinging it over her shoulder and fully rounding the corner. Her acquaintance is sprawled backwards on the hill, struggling to right himself.

She sees the foot before she sees his face, shiny and metallic, glaring from the bottom of his jeans. She freezes.

"Of course!"

"Astrid?" He asks, pushing to his foot and almost toppling backwards before she lunges forward, grabbing the front of his jacket and tugging him vertical. "Thanks," he mumbles and she shrugs, adjusting his bag strap on her shoulder. "Erm, surprise?" He delivers, lackluster and Astrid stares at her feet, unprepared and suddenly shy.

She remembers the last time she hugged him, wondering if she'd ever do it again.

"Kind of a big surprise."

"Are you umm—"

"Of course I'm glad you're here!" She snaps, too harsh, before sighing. "Does Gobber know you're here?"

"Of course he does," they laugh lightly, teenagers on a first date, and Hiccup steps forward, reaching for his duffel. She twists away, keeping it. He can't…if she has it, they have to stay together, right? He can't leave without his bag.

"So…umm…are you staying?" She doesn't bother to hide the uncharacteristically hopeful tone and he smiles tentatively. Maybe this…

Maybe this is _right_.

She blushes and glares, crossing her arms self-conscious as everything they need to talk about floods her head.

"For at least a few days. The hotel room is reserved through spring break. And if you're umm…well," He trails off, shrugging. "Never mind."

It's too soon to offer and he trails off, suddenly awkward. They're going to figure this out, or they're not, and he's not going to let her get out of it because she's…impossible to resist.

Looking at her now, breaking up seems impossible. She's _his_ Astrid, he can see it in her eyes, in the subtle yearning for connection.

It's like last fall, when she peered out at him through broken nose bruises, daring him to see her.

"Never mind?" She pries, waiting for the rest of the sentence, and Hiccup shrugs, adamant.

"I'm on the way to check in," he looks up the hill and Astrid waits for him to lead the way.

"Ok," she waves him forward, stubbornly by his side as she gets used to walking slowly, ignoring the way he carefully picks up the hill, a tense silence mounting between them.

She wants to say _something_, wants to stop him and kiss him or yell at him for surprising her, or…or…or…

They push through the front doors of an inn at the top of the hill and she hangs back, observing oddly patiently as he checks in, oblivious to the mild flirting of the receptionist. She loves his cluelessness.

He walks over a minute later, dangling a brass key from his fingertips.

"Second floor," he smiles wryly, looking at his feet, "of course."

"You could _ask_ for first floor, you know."

"It's fine," he insists and she rolls her eyes, following him down a hallway to a stairwell. She habitually walks behind him up the stairs, half of her mind wandering to the now round globes that Ruff so elegantly analyzed and that helped her out the day before, while the other half runs over and over useless words in her head.

'I love you. I trust you. Did you get my voicemail? What the hell did you fly out here for? Did I do something to make you keep trying? Do you see that I don't want to break up with you?'

The useless thoughts mill endlessly around her brain and she chews on her lower lip, shoulder complaining under the weight of the bag. It's like he's at port, deciding whether to drift off or not. He unlocks the door to his tiny hotel room, stubbornly holding it as she walks through, dropping his duffel on the floor near the bed. She turns, perching on as little of the small mattress as she can, looking around the cramped but nice room.

"How was your flight?" She asks quietly and he shrugs a noncommittal response, shutting the door and flicking on the overhead light.

"How was your race?" She scoffs.

"Like Gobber didn't already tell you."

"I figured you might want to talk about it." He reads her mind and she slouches, now familiar guilt rising in her chest.

"2nd on the national team and 7th overall." She can't help the smile that sneaks onto her face and it makes her momentarily brave. "And I'm not still mad at you. I just—I'm not mad."

"I figured flying out here would do that," he nods and Astrid shakes her head, staring at her toes.

"Before you showed up," she tells him and he sighs, wiping a hand over his face. Too easy, this can't be _that_ easy if he wants it to be _fixed_. "Did you…did you get my voicemail?" He shakes his head and shrugs embarrassed.

"I saw it, but I didn't listen to it. I'm sorry."

"It's alright."

"And that's great…about your race, I mean." He takes off his jacket, tossing it onto the bed beside her, bending down carefully and tugging a fresh tee-shirt from his duffel bag. "I bet that USC scout is kicking himself."

"I'm glad I'm staying close," she admits quietly, and Hiccup quirks his head. "Spike." She explains lamely and he frowns. "And you."

"I'm going to change really quick," he holds out the shirt as evidence, "then we should get some dinner," he offers quietly and Astrid nods, too eager.

"I'm starving," her stomach growls in response and they laugh awkwardly. He shuffles slowly towards the bathroom and she rolls her eyes, stomach clenching in the misplaced importance of the moment. "You can change out here. I have seen you…shirtless before."

"I don't want—it'd be weird," he mumbles and she grinds her teeth audibly, "I don't want to go _there_." He doesn't want another failed attempt. He wants to _talk_.

He wants to figure this out, even if it means building ground up, because he wants _her. _

If he comes out of the other side of this with _her_, it's all worth it. His original plan seems ridiculous now, looking at her once again familiar face.

"I'm not _uncomfortable_," she insists, but he still turns away, facing the wall as he tugs his grimy travel shirt over his head, back muscles twisting sinuously as he tosses it next to the bad, tugging the fresh green shirt over his head. He turns around, eyes still averted and Astrid grins cautiously. "See? Perfectly comfortable."

"I—" he starts, eyes boring straight through the blue windows to her soul before he looks away, chickening out for the moment. "We should go. I don't know how late things are open." It feels like detachment and Astrid frowns, sitting back further into the bed and getting stubbornly comfortable.

"It's Friday, I'm pretty sure they're open all night," she defends, crossing her arms and wondering why she's trying to keep him here.

They need to _talk_. Just work through all of this…end up somewhere instead of falling into a trap along the way. The bed won't help them talk. Neither will being _public_.

"I'm hungry now," he mutters and she stands with a guttural sigh, holding out Hiccup's jacket and hanging on a little too long as his fingers glance over hers with irrational sparks.

"Fine, let's go," she leads the way this time, watching like a hawk as he pockets his room key before sauntering ahead of him down the stairs and through the lobby, out into the street. It's louder now, decidedly moved away from the family friendly atmosphere of the afternoon. Assuming Hiccup is about _done_ with walking, even though he'd never admit it, she ambles to the pub across the street and pushes through the reassuringly ancient doors.

It's quiet, a few businessmen chatting with a middle aged bartender at the dimly lit counter, and Astrid can't help but feel horribly mature sitting at one of the high bar top tables. Hiccup sits across from her and she avoid eye contact, perusing the menu.

"Let me guess, you aren't going to exercise your rights?" She asks, sliding the menu his direction.

"What do you mean?" He looks at the table before glancing up, instantly caught in blazing eye contact.

"You're eighteen, in Europe, and I bet you aren't even going to get a drink," she teases and he smiles, shrugging.

"I don't want a drink."

"You've never _had_ a drink, how do you know if you want one?"

"Hey, I've had a drink," he insists. He stole beers out of his father's special fridge all the time back in middle school.

"Maybe _I_ want a beer," she suggests coyly and Hiccup clears his throat, looking down on the menu. Astrid's effect on him is never going to fade, is it?

All the more reason to get this _talk_ done with.

"But you can't get one," he defends obviously and Astrid rolls her eyes.

"But if you get one and leave it too close to me and don't look…" He looks up at her stonily. The last thing he wants is Astrid getting drunk to have sex with him. That's like fifteen steps back, as tempting as his lower brain finds the insinuation.

"_Why_ do you want a beer?"

"Because I'm wrapping my head around the fact that 7th place is a good thing."

"7th in the _world_, Astrid." He reminds her and she shrugs, pouting and tracing the lines of wood on the table with a pointed finger. He gives into her power of persuasion with a grudging sigh, telling himself that he'll only get one and maybe it'll loosen the gate enough that he can _affirm_ Ruff's insinuations. "Fine, what kind of beer do _I_ want?"

She grins at him and looks at the list on the wall, decisively pointing to the tenth one on the list, which has a name around 20 letters long.

"That one."

"Killian's?" He asks hopefully and she shakes her head.

"No, the one right below Killian's."

"Really?" He groans quietly, eyes beseeching. "Astrid, that's like, Welsh or something," she nods, "Only Welsh people can pronounce Welsh." She shrugs and grins at him, feeling wonderfully goofy. "You're seriously going to make me try and order that?"

"It'd be funny," he sighs loudly. She must _know_ that he can't say no to that smile.

With this joking Astrid pushing his buttons and grinning at him, he feels like it was inexorably right to come here. This was the right decision, he's going to _fix_ this.

"Fine," he glares at her, sullenly trying to sound out the outlandish word while preventing his slow smile from creeping up to his face. Astrid studies the subtle movements of his jaw as he squints at the wall, eyeing constellations in the freckles on his cheeks. "What?" He asks, flushing under her gaze and she shrugs.

"Just looking."

"At what?" He reaches up, wiping at whatever caught her eye. It must be a crumb, or a smudge, or something.

"My boyfriend." She looks away, picking at her cuticles and peeking up at him through her eyelashes. He's not _refuting_ it…"I missed you." She tests the waters, dipping her toe into the figurative lake.

"You saw me Tuesday." She glares up at him.

"You know what I mean." He doesn't have a chance to answer before the barman trudges over with a wide grin.

"Wot can I get fer ya?" They order their food and Hiccup starts to sound out the name of the beer before giving up and pointing at the sign. "Oh come on, not one more try?" He laughs heartily, "best part 'o the job is hearin' Americans struggle through that 'un."

"Ah, but that's what _she_ wants me to do," Hiccup answers cheekily and Astrid grins.

"Oh, sorry lassie, gotta take the man's side here, barman code," he winks at her before sauntering back to the kitchen area.

They fall silent in the absence of the third person and Astrid drums her fingers on the table top, almost speaking, her lips flapping silently before Hiccup breaks quiet.

"So you don't need any more _space_?" Hiccup asks, shockingly bitter and Astrid shrugs, shrinking into her seat.

"Space was a stupid idea in the first place." She admits, "All I did was miss you and yell at inanimate objects."

"I heard that," he doodles with his finger, so close to reaching across the table and grabbing her hand. It be easy, to wrap his fingers around hers, and he wonders what kind of setback it'd really be. "What if I need space?" He asks quietly, unsure what he'd do with more space, but resenting feeling grouped back into the relationship.

She just needs to _say_ something. She still hasn't told him what's wrong. He just needs her to tell him what's wrong.

"Then why'd you fly over here? You had all the space you could have wanted." She asks and Hiccup shrugs.

"Good point." The barman returns, putting Hiccup's beer in front of him and walking away, humming to himself like he can't feel the silence. Hiccup lazily pushing the glass towards Astrid and she takes a sip, setting it back in the middle of the table.

"Thanks," she mumbles, smacking her lips against the relaxing hoppy taste.

"Just keep it under control," he laughs, happy to be _thanked_, "I don't want to have to lug you over to your hotel." Astrid shrugs.

"I figured I'd be sticking with you," she hedges, determined and he avoids eye contact at all costs.

"Won't Gobber wonder where you are?"

If she plays that game, if she does that thing where she's looking at him and pushing him and talking to him, he doesn't stand a chance at his plan, or even getting to the bottom of everything. Breaking up with her is impossible, if she's fully the Astrid he knows and loves, but that's not going to stop him from figuring out what's wrong.

"If Gobber knows you're here and where you are, wouldn't he guess where I am?" She explains, boasting false confidence and refusing to believe that it's really that horrible to imagine having her stay with him. She can't think of anything else, the idea of warm too long arms wrapping around her waist fogging her thought process.

She should just hug him. She should just lean over the table and kiss him, and get that _need_ out of her system. Her hand rests on the edge of the table, and she stares at the distance between their fingers, chewing on her lip.

She's not shy. She's never been _shy_.

It feels like a bold move would end her.

"He knows we were fighting. My dad's more of a megaphone than a vault." Astrid laughs.

"You haven't heard the half of it," she laments, taking another swig of beer and willing her head to open up. "Gobber is also smarter than we are," she too shyly reaches across the table, her hand shaking as she thinks twice, shrinking back before surging forward and grabbing his hand.

"He probably planned all of this," Hiccup laughs conspiratorially, his fingers curling in hers. Around hers.

She doesn't know whether to be happy that she got this far or furious that holding his hand seems like a victory.

"And that's why you didn't show for my race. 'No distractin' Astrid, get outta here!'," she mimics poorly and Hiccup laughs.

"Actually I missed your race because I didn't decide to come until about 4 yesterday. I was in the air while you were running," he muses and Astrid cocks her head.

"If you knew you weren't going to catch the race, why'd you come?"

"I couldn't stand the silence," he admits, "both dogs were moping, and my dad was avoiding me, and I thought I'd go crazy sitting alone. Then well…my dad was anything but discouraging…"

"That guy just enjoys making me _owe_ him." Astrid groans and Hiccup smiles mildly, his heart welling in his chest.

"He owes you, he never had to help me shower," he jokes mildly and Astrid flushes.

"Yeah, he left that _lovely_ task to me," Hiccup's face plummets as he jerks his hand back, but Astrid holds fast, backpedaling and earnest. "Not like _that_!" She snaps, voice too loud as the truth bursts form her mouth like a flash flood. "Do you have any idea how weird it was _wanting_ you before I realized what that felt like?" She's glad the bar is mostly empty, but the other men look at her strangely. One gives Hiccup a thumbs up and he flushes, looking down at his lap.

Astrid takes a chug of beer, hissing at the dense swallow. Hiccup mimics her, and she tries not to notice that his hand is shaking. She squeezes his fingers tighter and looks across at him, sheepish beneath that challenging gaze.

"Really?" He asks quietly.

"Umm…yeah," she admits, "I was…I am—I'd never felt _that_ before. I mean I liked umm…Scott because he was dreamy and I was fourteen…but nothing like that—this. Nothing like this." She nearly crushes his hand and it feels like their grip might combust.

"Really?" He asks again and she shrugs violently. He's so unbearably happy, she said…something.

It's a drop in the bucket. But it's there, and she's talking and…this might actually work.

"Yes, really, Hiccup." She snarks and tries to jerk her hand away, embarrassed. He holds fast to her hand and her elbow smacks the edge of the table. Her eyes fill with tears as her funny-bone drives her numb into her shoulder. Hiccup's eyes widen comically at the tears and she laughs.

"I must have gotten more charming, because you're crying now."

"I smacked my elbow." She smiles, breaking the tension. "You know that exposed nerve?" He nods, smiling.

"I never got why they call it a funny-bone," he comments, "it's not funny at all." Her fingers feel at home in his, warm and surprisingly _dainty_. She'd kill him if he ever called her dainty.

He tries to imagine breaking up with her, tries to imagine suggesting restarting, but now it just feels like a loss. He'd never be able to remake the last few months, and getting rid of a couple weeks of hell isn't worth throwing all that they have away.

He can't do it. He can't.

It'd be like giving Toothless to animal control, just so he could rescue him later and be the hero.

"I guess because people act funny when they smack it," she suggests and he grins.

"Yeah, you _cry_, that's hilarious," she steps on his right foot under the table and he flinches, laughing.

He can't believe that she said she wants him. She said nothing like _this_. Present tense.

Rationally, he knows that wasn't the problem…but it still feels like a weight off of his chest when she blurts it like that. Now there's only the entire rest of their problems to figure out.

Awesome.

"Asshole," she accuses him, grinning against her will.

"You love me," he insists and she laughs, wiping a hand across her face. 

"I do, for _some _reason." She grins, sneaking another swig of beer. "Well, for a lot of reasons actually," she mumbles before sitting back as their food arrives, clunking to the table in front of them.

She lets go of his hand nearly apologetically, wistful fingers dragging across his palm. If it made any sense to eat one-handed and she weren't so hungry, she would.

Good food begets silence, and Astrid is halfway through dinner before she glances up, spying Hiccup drinking from the beer.

"I thought you didn't want a drink," she laughs and he shrugs.

"Don't talk to me, _minor_," she glares at him playfully, snatching the drink and draining the last two inches, daring him to say something. He shakes his head in false admonishment and she laughs, nearly inhaling the rest of her dinner.

Five mile races aren't necessarily more miserable than three milers, but they do make her hungrier.

Hiccup gives up on his plate and pushes it towards Astrid, who picks at his fries, eating slowly around the edge of the plate. He drums his fingers on the table, glancing up at her questioningly.

"So…" he starts, "what now?"

"I was assuming you'd need to sleep," she shrugs, and it sounds far too suggestive. Astrid blushes.

"I slept on the plane," Hiccup redirects the conversation and she rolls her eyes.

"Of course you did. You're the best sleeper in the world."

"You say that like it's a bad thing," he starts, fumbling his wallet out of his pocket and looking towards the counter.

"It's not fair," she laments, pulling a bill out of her pocket and offering it to him. He ignores it and earns a glare. "You don't _have_ to pay for me."

"Breakfast on you?" He offers and they both flush at the insinuation. They've heard this stuff too many times, in too many movies. Room service and spending the night is suggestive and…perched on the edge of some black hole they can't see, looming around the edge of them and waiting to pick off what's left. Astrid wants nothing more than to curl up in his arms, bony and safe as he holds her too close. The air between them is clearing, but Hiccup can still see the smog furling menacingly. She still hasn't told him what her problem is, and as long as that problem is floating around them like a malevolent poltergeist, he can't let this go forward. "Not like _that_." He assures with a too hard look in his eye, backpedaling before faltering, giving in more than he planned on. "I mean, not that—unless—Nevermind. No."

Wow. That's a self-esteem boost.

"It's fine, I've got next time," she forces her face placid and stands, urging him towards the counter to pay. He hands over the seemingly bottomless credit card and they walk back out into the street, standing on the sidewalk and looking both directions at a loss for the next move. "I know you're not tired, but I am," Astrid admits, glancing towards his hotel in a feeble, doomed to fail attempt. Her quads throb and she wills them steady, yawning into her sleeve in spite of herself.

"Do—Are you going to go back?" He looks down the road where he ran into her earlier and she shrugs. Her hotel is the last place she wants to go, but he looks almost eager.

And she knows he doesn't mean back to his place.

"Not unless you don't want me to be here—"

"I want you," he blurts and flushes, "to stay." She stuffs her hands in her pockets and toes at the ground. "With me. Out here." He finishes resolutely and she can't help but pout.

If they try again, it'll be different. She'll apologize and…she'll tell him. She's ready this time, she'll really really tell him.

"Out here?" She asks, toying with a wrapper in her pockets and almost glaring up at him, impossibly exposed and raw. He's kissing her before it's really a conscious thought, hand landing against her waist as she squeaks into his mouth.

She has half a mind to shove him off.

It's only a moment before she relaxes, palm against the back of his neck, leaning into his mouth in an utterly convincing way. She wants him to follow her, back to some warm, quiet place where they can talk and figure this out. Where no one can see them, where they can do what they need to do.

His tongue slips past her lips and it's been too long. Too too long. He pushes her hair almost roughly behind her ear with absurdly gentle fingers and her free hand lands against his lower back.

She thinks about grabbing lower and flushes, fist clenching in the dog-hair peppered wool of his coat. Her hand slides down from the back of his neck, unzipping his jacket halfway and gripping at his shoulder under his tee-shirt.

He freezes up and pushes her away gently, hands cupped notably lovingly over her shoulders. They stand at arms-length and stare at each other, breathing too hard.

Astrid frowns and crosses her arms.

"Yes, out here."

It feels like rejection and she rolls her eyes.

"You're the one who kissed me."

"Maybe I just like kissing on street corners in foreign countries," he challenges, clumsy and too specific. She smiles in spite of herself and shrugs his hands off of her shoulders, edging half a cautious step forward.

"Where do you want to go?" She remains unsure of what exactly she wants him to say.

"I don't know where anything is," he shrugs, and her frustration boils. To his room. She wants to go to his room, and feel private and alone.

"Really helpful, Hiccup," she snaps and he sighs irritably, pointing in a random direction.

"Fine, let's go that way," he suggests sardonically and she quiets, mollified by the resolute decision.

"Ok, that way."

00000

Final Schedule:

Friday, 2/14 – Valentine's Day

Monday, 2/17 – Blind Side with Ruff, Meet Heather at Prosthesist

Tuesday, 2/18 – Push-up bra premier, Dinner with Jerry, Bowling with Heather

Wednesday, 2/19 – Knock out Tuff's tooth

Thursday, 2/20 – Talk with Scot Nout

Friday, 2/21 – Inhaler adventure

Saturday, 2/22 – Angry Make-out, Fishlegs at Home Depot

Sunday, 2/23 – Video Games with Heather

Monday, 2/24 – Stay home from school and make-up

Tuesday, 2/25 – Heather drops by for Research, Talk with Gobber

Thursday, 2/27 – The infamous bending incident, Lesbian relations with Ruff

Friday, 2/28 – Official 'break', Empathetic Track meet, Movie with Heather

Saturday, 3/1 – Sex Talk with Fishlegs, Nighttime talk

Sunday, 3/2 – Couch "napping", Night Hike with Ruff

Monday, 3/3 – Hung-over morning

Tuesday, 3/4 – Astrid leaves for Worlds

Wednesday, 3/5 – Movie with Heather, Astrid talks to her team, Hiccup talks with Jerry

Thursday, 3/6 – Hiccup to airport, Astrid works to overcome her fear

Friday, 3/7 – Worlds race, Hiccup arrives in Glasgow

00000

**So. The ramp up continues. **

**I can't say anything except you all are going to love the next chapter. I mean, this one is slower than 18, but it felt wrong to just jump into it, especially because it would be extremely tense and strange, pretending not to be fighting, when really everything is hanging in the balance. **

**So, please tell me what you guys think…and be excited for Chapter 20. Be very very excited. I'm so incredibly excited. **


	20. Chapter 20

**Can I say I'm excited? Because I'm excited…**

00000

They take off walking, mostly silent as they come to the ends of the shops, the road winding between apartment buildings and small closed restaurants. Hiccup reaches down after a few awkward minutes and grabs her swinging hand in his and she sighs, tumultuously content. They wander into a park along the river, the quiet sound of rushing water filling the air. It's empty and all of a sudden too quiet and Astrid clears her throat, gripping the familiar hand in hers. Hiccup stops suddenly, his metal foot gritting on the gravel path, and she looks back at him curiously.

"Do you…did you mean it?"

"Mean what?"

"That you _want_ me?" She nods, rolling her eyes.

"Please don't tell me you've been dwelling over that," she answers, her false bravado failing dramatically.

"It's…it's good to hear, but I don't know…every other time you've said it you've been pretty blatantly lying, or we've been _distracted_," her fist connects with his shoulder and he sighs, "I'm not exactly your _type_."

He spent the whole flight doubting every time she touched him. No matter what she said, no matter how many times she…_helped_ him, he always eventually circles back to that inherent inevitability that she's more attractive than he is. She must know. She must see it too.

No matter how much he searches for another, more complicated answer, the simple solution stares him in the face.

"What do you mean my type?" She asks quietly.

"I'm not like _Scott_. I'm not athletic or strong or hot—"

"I think you're hot," she tells him earnestly and he looks at her, eyes full of doubt. They're still pretty, so green, glowing like pine trees in the shadows. She wonders if she should tell him that, tell him that she likes his eyes and his thick sharp eyebrows, and every single one of his freckles. She can't do anything but stare as his mind flashes visibly.

"Right."

"Hiccup…" she grasps at the air, furrowing her eyebrows and stepping subtly towards him. "Scott was never my _type_. I never wanted Scott." She insists for what feels like the thousandth time.

She realizes only a scant few of those times were out loud, in plain speech.

"Then why did you date him?" Hiccup's voice rises in his throat, pained and horrible. "For three years?" She sighs.

"Why do you want to talk about this?"

"Because I want to fix this. I want to stop feeling like we're going to break up, I want to—" He gestures to nothing and she frowns, stepping away. "Look, neither of us are happy. And I want—I want to talk about every single thing that's wrong and figure this out."

He blurts and she plants her feet, fight or flight pinging in her brain like a check engine light. She's not going to run this time. She can't _evade_ anymore, she's done with that.

"Scott, then? Is that where we're starting?" She asks, feeling doomed and wondering how long she has until she's fully, emotionally naked in front of him. Minutes. Hours?

Or has she messed _him_ up so much that it'll take days?

She doesn't want to dump this on him any more than she did a few days ago, that's the last thing he deserves. But…well, there's no other way to fix this at this point, is there? There's no other way to explain away everything she's said and done, the way she's acted.

And if he freaks out and runs…well, he didn't when she told him the first half of this deep dark secret.

"Yeah, I think the guy you dated for three years without loving is a good place to start."

"You're not going to let that go, are you?" He stares at her like she's insane and she continues. "Look, I was fourteen, everyone told me that Scott Nout was hot, Scott Nout was perfect. Someone—my type was decided before I could formulate an opinion." He looks unconvinced and she grits her teeth. "This is hard to explain…what—what if everyone said a girl was so hot, and it was your first year at a new school, and that person was _nice_ to you and asked you out?"

"Well, that girl _would_ have been you, so I would have said yes," he answers simply, and the sweetness is lost in her frustration to communicate. As much as she loves knowing that he _liked_ her far before she did anything likable, it never fails to send a cloud of insufferable guilt her way.

She didn't notice him and that was her first mistake.

"Pretend it was…Ruff." He raises his eyebrows, momentarily freaked out and Astrid nods, "Everyone is saying Ruff is so hot, and she starts being really nice to you, and her family is nice to you, and you're just starting to make friends and she asks you out." Hiccup concedes to the logic with a barely there shrug before pushing forward, chin jutting defiantly.

Talking is bolstering. It's refreshing, it's more progress than they've had since they finally acted on their feelings.

He's glad that he pushed her to talk, and he looks for a way to dig deeper.

"Why'd you stay with him?" Astrid sighs, irritated and frazzled as the conversation dips an uncomfortable level deeper.

"Why _wouldn't_ I, Hiccup?"

"You didn't love him."

"I never loved him!" she snaps, stomping. "It made _sense_. It made perfect sense. He was _hot_, I'm pretty, we're popular. He was…easy. He didn't expect much, it was physical and shallow, and I didn't have to _involve_ myself. He didn't make…he didn't make my toes curl when he kissed me, and I could pretend…I didn't have to—I'm not—you can see what happens to a relationship when _I_ am involved." She escalates to yelling at some point and Hiccup takes it breathing deeply.

It feels like a crack in the dam.

This flood should have happened months ago.

She's so close to getting the secret out she could scream.

"Do we—Do I make sense?" He asks after a quiet moment, prodding her, and she yanks her hand away, holding her temples like her head is about to fall apart.

"No, Hiccup, you don't make any sense at all." She admits, voice nearly hysterical, "you're the most absurd—I don't understand you—Or, now I do…sometimes, but—Urgh!" She spins in a frustrated circle, kicking a brick wall and staring at her shoe, accusing it of making her toes _throb_. Her entire brain feels like a wound as she continues, more measured now. "You don't make any sense. I think you're handsome and I don't understand why. I want…you make me want to beat _you_, but I hate it when I hurt you, and it's never been like this with anyone else before. You—I—You don't have huge muscles, or impressive status," she spits the word, "or smooth pick-up lines but…but when I look at you I feel…out of control."

"You hate being out of control," he mumbles when she pauses, sensing that she needs a nudge.

The impending revelations hang over them like fat rainclouds.

"Yes!" She agrees, "I hate it, every time I'm out of control it's…it's…" Her dad. She coughs, quieting down.

He reaches for her hand and she spins away.

She needs to tell him…this. All of this. He needs to know.

"Astrid—"

"You're the one nagging me to talk. This is how I'm talking," she mutters defiantly and he steps back, so patient she wants to _punch_ him.

"Ok."

And she's Toothless in that bear trap, scowling and wounded.

"Nothing has made me happier than being out of control. Because of you," she groans, pushing her hair back from her face. "_Everything_ got better because I was impulsive, because I suddenly had something better to…to…" She exhales shakily and Hiccup resists the urge to comfort. She needs to get through this. "You and Spike, and college, suddenly there was a silver lining and I took it."

"But it's not what you thought it would be?" She sounds almost desperate and he guesses carefully, voice cautious.

"It's…I'm happy," she growls and he scoffs. She glares at him, for a moment a shadow of her normally contained self as she continues quietly. "Well, not right now, but I—you make me happy, you make me remember who I _want_ to be."

"So the problem is…physical?" He asks, dreadfully practical and she glares, the effect ruined by her shaking hands.

"Don't you get it? You make me lose control," she repeats. "I've always been in control—I always wore the pants—" she struggles to force the words back out of her mouth. "Sex wise. I was in charge, but that was with Scott and it feels _wrong_. I don't want—the overlap is—yeah." She stumbles and he nods in quiet agreement. She hurriedly wipes itchy eyes with the back of her hand. "And when it was—when I wasn't i-in control, it was r—" She can't finish the word as her arms wrap around her ribs like a bandage. "Wrong." She substitutes. He doesn't need to hear this. He doesn't—"It was my dad." The words finally fall out and she seems to shrink, the Astrid Hofferson glaze floating away like vapor and leaving a sad teenager in the legend's place.

"Astrid—"

"If I'm in control, it's like I'm back with Scott. If I'm not—If I'm out of control, it's like I'm being r-r-assaulted again," she utters the facts, staring through Hiccup at something haunting behind him. He cautiously steps forward and she lurches back. "Don't you get it? I'm fucked from both sides. I'm—how would it ever—"

"It was your dad?" He interrupts her, suddenly stock still and rooted to the ground, fists clenching in an unfamiliar cadence against his sides. She's crying, tears carving wet patterns down her cheeks as she hugs herself, twisting back and forth slowly. "Your dad _assaulted_ you?"

"That's what I said." She snaps, her voice quiet and hollow, like she's tumbling down an endless well.

"Your dad…r-r—"

"Don't say it," she deadpans, tears drying in her eyes as she points a warning finger at him, backing up another step.

"I should have guessed—That makes so much sense—I'll fucking—" The rage flows like lava and Hiccup whirls around, torn between stalking off to the nearest airport and giving Astrid some obviously needed comfort. He spins in a small circle, foot making unnatural noises on the gravel of the path.

"Stop," she almost begs, her own fingernails digging into the sides of her jacket.

"I'm going to go kill him." He proclaims, deadly and quiet and her blood runs cold. His hands are too steady.

Hiccup is not supposed to sound like that. He's not supposed to sound so fatal and stony, so utterly fearless. It's inspiring in the worst possible way, makes her want to slash and cut and bludgeon. She freezes, eyes drying.

"No. You aren't."

"You're wrong," he snaps, digging his cellphone out of his pocket with trembling fingers and searching for the airline's phone number.

He's glad his dad is on the pro-gun side, and he thinks of the trophy elk in the den and the shotgun on the wall. He remembers enough from those first few lessons.

He's smart enough to hide a body

"Don't do this, you aren't going to do this," she says in a calm voice that she recognizes from talking to Spike. Her hands fly out from her sides, hovering steady as she does her best to conquer the fight or flight that has governed so much of her past few years. Her bangs stick to her tear stained cheeks, and her hands start to shake.

"He…He raped—"

"Yeah, thought we covered that?" She cuts him off, bitterness flashing through her eyes like poison. Hiccup freezes at the barely veiled sarcasm, narrowing his eyes.

"You, of all people, don't want revenge?"

"I got my revenge. He did that…to keep me close. I left," she admits quietly, stepping forward and grabbing skinny wrists above terrifyingly firm fists.

"That's _practical_," he snips, rage coursing beneath his skin, permeating his blood and burning like acid.

"You know, he did get away with it," she shrugs flippantly, a fresh wave of tears trickling down her cheeks. "For years—" he positively growls in response, looking around darkly. It's terrifying, it's horrible. She hates that it makes her feel safe. "But it's done now, and I just want it to be over."

It's like Toothless is in danger, but magnified by the completely disgusting irony of the situation. Her father should have been protecting her, but instead—

"For years?" He roars after a silent moment, "he was doing that for years and you didn't tell anyone?" He jerks his arms away from her grip and his resolve dissolves into frantic, hectic pacing as his hands start to flutter like wounded birds.

"I handled it—"

"It doesn't seem like you handled it! Since he's still alive and everything!" He snaps and her expression falls flat.

Everything makes sense now. Hating to be touched, her callus attitude. The way that she focused on his skinniness, and the red of his hair, distancing herself from everything else as much as she could. The way that she hits—

Well, that's probably just Astrid…

All the other pieces fall horrifyingly into place.

"Hiccup…calm down, ok?" She urges in a low voice, still holding onto surprisingly steady, thin, cold wrists. "You—I _know_ it's not fair, ok?" Her own terror is fleeing, overcome by the need to preserve her current reality, not because of fear, but because of contentment.

"I have to go—"

It'll fuck everything up if he leaves now and she turns her focus to keeping him here.

"Stop," she tells him, grabbing the wrist she knows all too well and wrenching it to the cusp of a dangerous angle. He tries to jerk away and she tightens her grip, suddenly _solid_.

"Astrid! He—Have you told _anyone_ else?"

"Ruff guessed—"

"I meant the police!" he snaps and she glares at him, suddenly feeling short as she clamps down on his wrists harder, wishing she could wrap them around her back and step closer, hugging his shoulders so tightly that it would have to hurt. "Are you saying that you don't care that he's out there—"

"Stop," she almost yells, hating his pained, accelerating pulse against the heel of her hand. Even from here, it's soothing breathing in the dog hair scent of his jacket. "It's over now, don't you get it? I'm so sick of my life being about him."

"It's—How can you just let this—" He snarls, "I can't let him get away with this!"

"Hey," she cranks his arm another five degrees in warning, cringing as he winces. "Either we talk about this here, and you stop threatening to go on a murdering spree, or I re-break this and we talk in the hospital."

"You wouldn't," he hedges, flinching and waiting for the snap. She lets go, suddenly disgusted with herself as she stretches her fingers, slumping forward and pulling every miniscule bit of his focus to her.

"Can we just—I just want to talk _calmly_ and get this out of my life."

"How can you be _calm_?" He asks, still shaking. Still angry, furious really.

"I can't, that's why I _need_ you," she crumples, hugging herself too tightly as he steps forward, wrapping his arm around her.

"Astrid, we can't just let this go," he tries one more time and she leans into him wrapping her arms around his back and sighing. Tears she didn't originally recognize drip down her face onto his jacket.

"Stop," she urges quietly, hugging him more tightly as her feet shuffle closer, toeing his lone shoe as his hands finally clasp limply at her shoulders.

"O-ok," he resigns quietly, for the time being. She hugs him too tightly, rocking onto her toes and wrapping near desperate arms around his neck as her last few sobs weakly leak out into the cool night air, frail and permeable.

"Ok?" She agrees, the tears running slowly and freely down her cheeks. She hates this weakness, this all-consuming sadness that she can't combat. He feels like all the good parts of _home_ under her fingers and she hugs him more tightly, fingers digging into his jacket as she sniffs, closing her eyes. "I really don't see how anything is ok."

She exhales, trying to steady herself as she wipes her face on the front of his jacket.

And it hits him.

"Oh god," Hiccup starts, his face going impossibly pale and his arms fall slack against his sides. "I said—before I knew—" He totters, eyes un-focusing on her ridiculously fragile face.

"Are you ok?" She asks, clearing her throat and swallowing the tears currently welling in the pit of her throat like a too big pill. "You look like you're about to puke."

"I called you…" he cradles his forehead in a trembling palm. "I didn't know, I didn't—I called you a—I can't believe I called you a _slut_, and all of this and—and—" he stutters and Astrid flushes as the word stings just as much as the first time he used it.

"You didn't know," he takes a shaky step backwards, tripping on a low brick wall bordering the path and sitting down hard. She steps forward and rests a shockingly gentle hand on his trembling shoulder. "You didn't know." The sentence streams through her head as a mantra she really doesn't need.

She forgave him. He couldn't know.

"But if I'd pulled my head out of my own ass for two seconds I could have—"

Why did he dwell so long on his leg? Wouldn't that obvious tick have stopped her in the first place?

"Could have what?" Astrid wants to yell, but her throat doesn't quite cooperate. "Could have walked up and asked if my dad ever happened to rape me after beating me up?" The flippant question makes Astrid gag and the words echo around her brain.

Hiccup starts to hyperventilate in earnest and just as it starts to scare her, he fumbles his inhaler out of his pocket and takes a soothing puff. He takes a deep breath and focuses on his feet.

"I made everything worse," his voice trembles near frantically, and she realizes she's never heard him _this_ upset. When he told her his leg was gone, it was absolutely matter of fact compared to this. "And why you were freaking out—everything makes perfect—" he coughs and takes another hit off of his inhaler.

"Breathe," Astrid urges.

"How can you be so calm?" He nearly sobs, "You were dealing with—and I said—" he tugs on his already crazy hair, groaning like someone's kicking him between the legs.

"It's not news to me," she answers, truly disturbed by the anxious calm in her voice. "And…if I hadn't forgiven what you said, I sure wouldn't be here now."

"I barely even apologized, before we were right back to fighting and—" his hands shake and she wonders what her world will look like with crumbled bedrock. "And then it was all about my stupid fucking leg," he stomps and the prosthetic squeaks like a dying animal.

"We needed to talk about that," she reasons, feeling like she's drowning in an emotional doldrum. "And now…now we need to talk about this," she admits with a resolute nod.

"But—I'm sorry but I'm more than sorry," he stares at her remarkably stony faced and repentant. "You've got to—If anyone knows a word for that, it's you. I'm so much more than sorry, I—" The words start to swirl together and Astrid stumbles forward, seating herself neatly in his lap. He catches her and she curls into his chest, staring at the image of his shoulder eclipsing her crossed feet resting on the wall beside them.

"I know how you can make it up to me," she mumbles after a moment.

"Anything."

And she believes him wholeheartedly.

"Help me get _past_ this. Him. All of it." She sighs and Hiccup pulls her closer, bricks digging painfully through the seat of his pants at the extra weight.

"Maybe you should talk to someone," he suggests, "like a professional someone."

"No," her head shakes so adamantly against his chest that it almost throws them off-balance. "I don't—If I tell someone like that it means investigations and I—" she swallows hard. "He'd be in court, and the only evidence left is me and I don't want to _see_ him until…unless I'm over it."

She hides against his shirt and he nods slowly, hesitantly accepting.

"What do you mean _exactly_ by get past it?" He asks, some subconscious, emotionless problem solving engine already working through the issue in the back of his head.

"I want…" she pauses and breathes quietly, suddenly amazed at the simplicity. "I want to be…intimate. With you."

"That won't help—"

"Look, I've been thinking about this for weeks and I need—If you just _show_ me you're different, and we do…each other," she starts, torn between some primordial awkwardness and the need to finally let go of all of this. "Then we can be _solid_ and I can feel _normal_ and figure out everything else."

"I don't—I never meant to act like I needed you to do that—" Hiccup raises his hands in surrender and Astrid almost falls, until she grabs onto his collar. Suddenly, he's too close and she's too warm and mysteriously nauseous, and she pushes to her feet, tears pooling back in her eyes.

She doesn't even know why she's crying this time. It's like she's on a cycle.

Cry, suck it up. Rinse and repeat.

"This isn't about you," she shakes her head, facing him as he stands and takes a careful step towards her. "I need to know that I can—that I'm not all permanently messed up, alright? It'd make me feel…fixable."

He steps forward and wraps long arms around her shoulders, and she lets him, sighing and leaning against him.

He didn't run.

Hiccup doesn't know whether it was the communication, or the still too fresh memory of her _whimpering_ in almost terror when he touched her before, but the solution rushes through his brain like a brush fire. It's a small piece of mortar, slathered nearly uselessly onto a crumbling pile of bricks, but he forges too stubbornly ahead.

"I know what to do," he offers and she pulls away slightly, looking tearfully and carefully into his eyes, searching for the joke. His hands move to her shoulders, steady and reassuring. "When you're ready, and I'll be here when you're ready," he assures her and she sobs silently, grasping her hands in the back of his jacket. "We can't take it from either side, right?" She nods her reluctant assent, eyes locked on him like he's _everything_. He is an anchor, a proverbial lighthouse, an unintentional pivot point, reeling in her leash like a fishing rod. "So we're going to go straight down the middle." She likes the head on concept, sniffing as her eyes clear cautiously.

"Straight down the middle?" She asks and he nods, shifting with a scrape and a click that's so wholly Hiccup her heart soars in her chest.

He _is_ different.

He's listening, looking at her, not beyond her, not below her at her body or her heritage.

"Straight down the middle." And for a second, everything is simple. Wonderfully, absolutely simple. He slides a hand down her arm, grabbing her hand with a shy barely there smile. "I'm freezing, let's get inside." She lurches back, punching him in the arm, suddenly aghast.

"You didn't tell me you were cold!" He's limping slightly as they head back to his hotel, walking with more purpose as they're suddenly a couple again, rather than two still lost people orbiting each other like high school sweethearts at a ten year reunion. "Are you numb?" She worries, and he shrugs.

She pulls him faster down the street, frowning at his limp.

He's…he's the most conflicted that he's ever been. He wants to _murder_ and kill and dismember in a way that hasn't been seen since medieval times. And the only time he's ever felt remotely this guilty was when Toothless was caught in a trap he helped to lay.

But the air between them is almost unbearably clear for the first time in weeks.

It's the first time since their ill-fated Valentine's date that he's actually believed in _lasting_.

She…It's not him, it has nothing to do with his brain or his leg or his lack of bulging muscles. It's that she hates him intersecting with the toxic spills already furling around her.

It's a problem with a solution, a possibility for advancement and success.

"I'm fine," he stumbles and she catches him with a hand around his bicep.

"We were out too long, you're numb, aren't you?" Lower leg amputation circulation is enough of a challenge without wandering around in the biting cold.

"Occupational hazard," he grins at her quietly and her glare softens as the weight lifted off of her chest fully asserts itself. The hotel comes into view and she drags him faster, hand too tight around his. She can't feel her fingers, and it's a wonderful change, letting him hold her together, even if it's just for a little while.

"Idiot," she accuses as he trips again, pushing into the almost too warm lobby.

"I love you too," he answers and her heart soars. It's been weeks since she heard that and believed it so utterly whole-heartedly. It feels like an eternity.

"Of course I love you," she mumbles, holding her hand out for his key and sighing as he _insists_ on unlocking his room himself, pushing through the door. "Sit down," she fusses, blinking tight dry eyes as she gently pushes him back towards the bed, urging him to sit as she kneels, tinkering with the buckles holding his leg in place. She hasn't dealt with this model before and it takes a moment to get it off, pulling the sock off of his knee. She cups the unnaturally cool scar in a warm palm and he awkwardly adjusts his seat. "Better?" She asks, rubbing around the back of his shortened calf.

"Astrid, I'm fine," he insists uneasily, trying to force himself to be utterly comfortable with the contact at the base of his leg. She busies herself massaging the too cool skin and slowly bending the joint. It's warm after a moment, circulation restored, but she continues, avoiding eye contact after her outburst. God, he _knows_.

Everything is different now.

_Again_.

"Don't stay out so long in the cold," she lectures, throat thick.

"Seriously, I'm fine," he reaches down and grabs under her arms, clumsily dragging her onto the bed beside him. His leg feels utterly naked in the slight draft of the room, curling under itself against the edge of the comforter. His jeans fall back down, cuff floating around his phantom calf in a way that almost tickles.

She talked.

It's still awkward, no doubt about that, but it's awkward in a wonderful way. For the first time in their relationship, he's a boy, and she's a girl, and they're _alone_ together. Nothing is inside his head convincing him that this is impossible, and her head is blissfully silent.

For the few moments that he stares at her subtly blushing face, everything is wonderfully simple.

She toes her shoes off cautiously and he smiles.

Her life could not possibly be more different from her pre-Hiccup existence. She remembers genuine terror, and being too miserable to sleep. She remembers long nights spent in silence, pretending that she didn't exist, scared to make a peep. Now, it's all laughing and dogs, and _safety_.

There are two Astrid's. Two lives.

One before Hiccup and one after, and she's about ready to put the first one away.

She crosses her legs, unzipping her jacket and awkwardly fiddling with the elastic at the cuffs of her wrist, scooting closer to the center of the bed.

She likes being far away from everything. There are no memories in this room but Hiccup, tonight, at the hopefully final collision of the before and after. She's never bled here, or been scared here, or fled here on too late weekday nights.

"Are you—do you…" She's not quite sure what she actually wants to ask and she trails off, thinking. "Are we…ok?" She finally settles on the most immediate concern and Hiccup looks at his lap.

"I can—" He glances up at her and this all suddenly feels wonderfully private, the walls warm and close. "You told me the truth."

"I hated it," she flushes, pulling her knees to her chest. Her toes brush against his thigh and she wishes she were closer to him, safer.

"I needed to hear it," he admits and she shrugs.

"I should have told you," she sighs. "I thought you were going to…I mean, you've been on the other end of _me_," she touches his wrist carefully, meaningfully, "and I thought you'd think I didn't fight."

He holds her hand in his, squeezing awkwardly and comfortingly before letting go and staring too penetratingly at her.

"You, not fighting?" He laughs lightly through a serious face. "That's the _last_ thing I'd ever assume."

"I know," she takes her jacket off, letting it fall to the floor with a tinkle as she pushes her sweater sleeves up her forearms, focusing too hard on the tan skin. "But…It's about time to move past it. I'm sick of dwelling on it."

"You know I'm not…them, right?" She punches him less than gently, her knuckles lingering a second too long against his bicep. "Ok, ok, just…checking."

"I can't decide if it's lonely or kind of nice without the dogs here," she says too loud, changing the subject pointedly. Hiccup chuckles, knowing that he should be pushing and prodding but sensing that now isn't the time.

Then again, Astrid has never needed a large amount of talking to figure things out. She's more the type to run through it in her own mind a few hundred times before telling him once and deciding.

He wonders how many times she's tried to get over _this_ on her own, and if he'll be able to slip away from her and take care of _business_ once they get back home.

"We definitely wouldn't be sitting together without a _helper_."

She shifts closer, eyes widening.

"I can't still be feeling half a beer," she mumbles, leaning imperceptibly closer. She's serious about getting over this, and knowing that Hiccup is still here…

His hand lands on her thigh unreasonably warm as she fiddles with her sweater sleeves.

The gesture begins as protective, gripping her in the possessive way that she loves to hate as he reassures himself that nothing like _that_ will ever happen again. Something changes as her leg clenches underneath his fingers, warm and firm and intoxicating.

It hits her that her underwear are hideous, and how much she cares catches as a lump in her throat. She drifts away for a moment, wondering if she should go to the bathroom and ditch them entirely before she comes back enough to hear Hiccup sarcastically mumble.

"Two thirds."

"Huh?"

"Two thirds of the beer," he clarifies and her nose is next to his, hot breath cascading against his cheeks. A weight he'd never defined, but definitely noticed, is gone, lifted from the air between them as she leans forward, hand on his good knee.

"I—oh, fuck it," she mumbles before kissing him, breath catching in her throat at the calm pureness of it. She remembers when he couldn't kiss, his tongue still in his mouth like a dead fish, but the electric contact still took her breath away. His hands find her waist and he holds gently as she rocks onto her knees, closer to his impossible warmth.

Her lips move in smooth tandem with his, breathing faster through her nose as a hand glides upwards, tangling in her hair. She resists the urge to shove him to the bed, to climb on top and _dominate_. Her hands tangle in the front of his jacket, unzipping it and fisting the cotton of his tee-shirt as she holds him close, kissing escalating to an almost frantic pace.

After far too little time he pulls back, too breathless as he reaches up to hold her hand, nearly wrenching her tight fingers from his clothes.

"Astrid," he laughs hoarsely, her name an exclamation as he uses the bottom edge of the box spring to peel his shoe off, scooting fully onto the bed and sitting loosely cross legged in front of the pillows. He stares carefully at her, searching her eyes for the telltale signs of psychosis. She smiles at him, rakish and confident in the moment.

"Missed you," she mumbles, ducking her head slightly and scooting forward. She wasn't done kissing him. In a moment of dubious bravery she pushes forward, lying down on her side with her cheek on his folded thigh, curling into a ball as his hand falls to her hair, stroking it back from her face. She sighs, curling up more tightly.

"You're awfully…" He doesn't are call her _snuggly_, no matter how true, because she'd hit him and ruin the delightfully warm feeling of being needed that he rarely gets when she's awake.

"You're always like this," she reminds him, in the moment regretting every time she's refused his cuddling advances, citing homework or temperature. His hand falls to her waist, stroking lightly along the base of her ribcage as she sighs against his leg.

"It's not a bad thing," he reprimands her and she grins in quiet agreement.

"No, it's not," the silence is calm for the first time in a while and she pushes up onto her elbow, looking at him carefully. "You can lie down, if you want." She offers too quietly and he smirks, eternally sarcastic.

"You'll allow me to lie down in my own hotel room?" He jokes and she rolls her eyes.

"Yes, I'll allow it." She pushes to her seat, fiddling with the bottom hem of her sweater with cautious fingers. "But you should probably take off your coat…" she tests the water with a whole foot, staring at him meaningfully.

If he asks her to leave again, she's not sure she's brave enough to come back.

He won't ask her to leave, she knows that…but it doesn't stop her from being irrationally nervous. Half of her wants to lay out the intentions she doesn't understand herself, but it feels like if she mentions the precarious limits of keeping each other company, then the whole evening will collapse in on itself, like a soufflé.

"Yeah," he mumbles, unzipping his jacket and pushing it off of his shoulders. It falls to the floor besides hers and she wonders if the coats are on top of each other, tangling together. She fiddles with the bottom of her sweater for another moment before tugging it over her head like a challenge. She drops it on the floor, suddenly cold in her cotton camisole. His eyes are briefly tempted downwards.

She can't be wearing a bra under that, the straps far too thin on her narrow shoulders. He remembers what she looks like naked and his entire body flushes.

"I'm cold," she announces boldly, sitting unmoving and waiting for him to lie down, head cautiously on the pillow. She presses herself into the nook of his body, back against his skinny firm stomach as he lets a casual arm fall over her waist.

He's trying _so_ hard to be casual.

But it hits him. He's barely learned anything. He assembled bits of a puzzle that he already had, no new knowledge has been gained.

He doesn't know if they'll survive another unsuccessful attempt.

Being yelled at for a night now is better than feeling clueless and tiptoeing around her for what he hopes could be years.

"That…this is _nice_," he mumbles, looking down at the sharp line of her collar bone and the smooth, sweeping, impossible to ignore lines below it. "But I think we have some things to talk about," he suggests timidly, heat rising to his face. "I know…I mean I know that this is difficult, but…I need to know more."

"Why?" Astrid almost snaps, staring too hard at the weave of the pillowcase stretching away from her like a perspective drawing.

"Oh you know, insatiable curiosity," he snarks and she scoffs, curling more tightly in on herself. "I don't want any more secrets."

She thinks on that, chewing on her lower lip.

"I don't want secrets either."

00000

**Please, oh please, I really want to know what you guys think of this. I've been waiting to talk about this chapter in particular for over 100,000 words now, and I want to talk about it with all of you. **

**So please give me people to talk to. I really hope I handled this in a way that you guys can appreciate, and that you're excited for what's next. **

**Because it doesn't slow down, guys. And I'm so nervous, and excited for you all to read this and…gah. So please, please, please I need to talk to someone about this or I'm going to explode. I've been avoiding spoiling this for weeks and weeks. **

**As you can tell, I'm very excited. **


	21. Chapter 21

**First off, thank you to Out of my Grasp for the cover art to both this and Chasing Thunderstorms. Sorry it took me so long to get up there! **

**The feedback for the last chapter was utterly fantastic, and thank you! I hope that everyone is happy to see these two back together again! **

00000

"I don't want secrets either."

Some deep corner of his mind is off in Candyland, still imagining what she looks like naked. Naked and on top of him. She's impossibly skinnier than she was three weeks ago, all those extra Worlds miles taking away whatever reserves she had. She's harder, but still unbelievably nice, and he wouldn't exactly mind exploring the difference. He drags his eyes up from where they'd fallen and sheepishly looks at her face as she glares over her shoulder at him.

"So…" He starts, blinking too hard and willing his pants to _deflate_ as he focuses on everything but the way her butt feels, firm but soft, pressed up against him.

She sits up, hugging her knees to her chest and staring him down. He pulls his tee shirt down, trying to hide the bulge in his pants, and slides back up, sitting cross-legged and nervous.

"What do you want to know?"

"You kind of—I mean, you can't expect me not to be at least a little bit curious—well, not _curious_, that sounds wrong—"

"I just said I don't want to dwell on it," she snaps, flattered and hot under his focused gaze at the same time as she's disgustingly nauseated at what's probably coming next. How much does she really have to tell him? How far does she have to go?

"I—I don't want to dwell on it either…but I—I _want_ to stick around and help…but I have to know what I'm helping with," her fingers inch stubbornly to the bottom hem of her tank top and he stills her with a steely look. "And…I mean…I'll start." He starts resolutely, sitting up straight and rubbing his hands together slowly. "I…my first kiss was you," she smiles in spite of herself, blushing more than she should for something like a _kiss_. "And my first, well, everything else was you. And with any luck at all, my first time will be you." Astrid chews on her lip, because it's all really sweet until she realizes how…rough she sounds compared to him.

It's like the difference between a new book and the last edition with those crusty pages that don't bear thinking about.

"But you aren't going to like…" her left over ire rushes to her face. "What if you leave?"

"Right, because I have so many Scottish hideouts," He says quietly and she shrugs, crossing her arms and staring at the bedspread.

"You might leave," she honestly worries and he sighs, pulling his shirt over his head and handing it to her, flushed like a tomato. She takes it, looking at him strangely.

"Ransom," he explains with a shrug and she narrows her eyes, pushing to her seat. He sits up in front of the pillow, immediately missing her warmth pressed up against him.

"You have a whole bag of shirts," she gestures, and he shrugs.

"Maybe you'll talk more if I'm shirtless too," he hedges awkwardly and she looks down. He looks utterly…Hiccup, and it's comforting.

"Come on, you've seen me in…less than this. This isn't shirtless," he glances down as she points and he blushes.

"When I saw you in less than that, we weren't about to talk about…this," he tells her and she looks down pensively before pulling his shirt over her head and hugging her midriff.

"We are about to talk about this, aren't we?" She asks, oddly calm as she scoots to the edge of the bed, against the wall, and leans back. Her knees fit easily under the edge of Hiccup's oversized shirt and she hugs them close, resting her forehead against them.

"I hope so," he admits, staring at her red, white, and blue polished toenails and wondering who painted them.

"I've never talked about this," she wrings her hands together, breathing hard into his shirt.

"Talking about my leg…" he pats his knee and she looks over at him, chewing on her lip. "Anyway, talking about it helped me…and I didn't even make you cross an ocean to get it out of me," he jokes and she frowns, sighing deeply.

"Where do you want me to start, then?" Her voice is too quiet and he shifts closer, uncomfortably _naked_. He reaches to wrap the throw blanket around himself, when she cuts him off. "No, don't. It…you're so skinny that I know you're not…him." She loves the contrast, the utter pool of attraction in the place of her normal worry. She frowns when he hides, crossing his arms and looking at her with worried eyes. "I'm not going to _cry_ again. I'm about done crying for the century."

"I guess, start wherever you want to."

"The end?" She jokes, laughing humorlessly. "I guess…well, I know I've told you some of this, but erm…So. My mom finally left when I was ten. I could've gone with her but I…I thought she wasn't being fair. My dad…when I was a kid and he wasn't drunk, he was the best guy in the world." She pauses, fiddling with a loose thread on the edge of the comforter. "I'm glad you came."

"Me too," he admits and she smiles at the bed, remarkably distant for how close she is.

"Anyway, I didn't go. I didn't understand what was happening, or why she _hated_ him, and well…I was _me_ even then. She tried to put me in the car, but I ran, and well…he got mad and she had to give up." Astrid muses quietly. "God, he was so proud of me after that, we went and got pizza and ice cream and he told me how it was just the two of us now, and made it sound like some fun party. I remember being happy when he didn't get any beer." She starts to rock slowly, not even really feeling the motion, just its comforting sway, and Hiccup almost wishes he hadn't asked to know. "Anyway, things were fine for a couple of years. Then when I was twelve, we got the call that my mom had died.

"That's when things went downhill. I look like her, you know?" She draws a line with her finger that passes right beneath her nose. "From here up is all her. I've got my dad's chin though, and his temper. That gets me into trouble." She smiles cautiously at Hiccup. "But I don't have to tell you that."

"The temper, I'm familiar with."

"Yeah…" her grin melts and she thumbs at the hem of his well-loved tee-shirt. "H-he started drinking again, and calling me…Amelia, my mom's name. We had to stop acting normal after a huge fight my eighth grade year. I ran out of the house with my first shiner and the neighbors all started threatening to call the cops. I-I didn't want that even then. I was embarrassed and pretending to be mature.

"When I went to high school, I quit soccer and started running," she smiles lightly, and Hiccup bites his lip, staying quiet. "And that's how I met Scott, he was the _great_ storied pee-wee football hero, and already on the high school team." The sarcasm in her voice makes him smile quietly as he buckles in for the meat of this…story. "And it was great, having somewhere that wasn't home to be. I swear, I spent that whole summer running and hanging out with Scott's bowflex, trying to flirt.

"And then school started, and I started _winning_ and well…I got punished less when I won, and I only had problems at home when I lost…It was some kind of motivation." She looks up at him through damp eyelashes. "Are you sure that you want to hear the next part?"

"I feel like—I want to help you. So I kind of have to board the Titanic." He jokes and she punches his shoulder, aghast. He grabs her hand and holds it in his and she smiles gratefully.

"Thanks," she snips half honest, and he tries to wave her forward with silence.

"Continue," he urges, riding on his need to catalogue his variables.

Scientifically, without killing anyone.

"Stop me if it's weird," she resumes the rhythmic rocking with his hand still wrapped around hers. Hiccup has no doubt that it will be _weird_. "And keep in mind that I love you and never loved Scott." She pauses to let that sink in and Hiccup smiles, the expression barely perceptible. That is absolutely wonderful to hear, no matter the horrible, awful situation. "Scott finally asked me out, and that was…well, we were fourteen. We held hands and it was two weeks before we even _kissed_. But you know…things progressed and a few weeks after homecoming we did _it_." She stops briefly and looks up at him, hands shaking at what she knows comes next. "I guess it's good, in a way, that came first, but the next week, my dad found a condom in my room.

"I guess that flipped a switch, or something, in his mind and suddenly I was an adult, but…" She said she wouldn't cry, but the drops spill slowly down her cheeks as her face stays stoic. "That was the first time, and he…he told me I was _perfect_," she spits the word, rocking slightly faster. Hiccup takes the cue, scooting closer and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. She leans into him, staring at his mismatched feet. "I hate that word. Perfect. He says—said I'm just like my mom, but I'm not. I'm way too much like him," her voice approaches hysterical, "I'm brutal, and I hurt _you_ for no reason and—"

"Hey. It's ok, shh," Hiccup senses the end of this exercise's productivity and hefts her slight frame onto his lap, wrapping himself dutifully around her, rocking slowly and murmuring low in his throat like he did for so many scared dogs.

"And I'm mean, and I couldn't just _love_ you like a normal—" she blubbers, wiping her face frantically on the sleeve of his borrowed tee-shirt. This is ridiculous. She can't remember the last time she felt more internally composed than she looked.

"You're nothing like him, ok?" He comforts and she hits his arm with a shaky fist.

"That's just it. I am l-like him. I'm headstrong and stubborn and—"

"And those are good things, Astrid. Even the worst people have ok attributes," he insists, hugging her as she tries valiantly to vacuum all evidence of tears back into her face.

"C-can we get over this now?" She nearly begs, her tone almost menacing if it weren't for its general _drippiness_. "Or do you _need_ to know anything else?"

"Is there anything else?" He asks, while the door is propped open.

"I'm pretty sure he pissed himself when I brought Spike home," Astrid snorts wetly and Hiccup rubs her back with smooth strokes as her tears finally dry.

"Small justices," he really, really wishes murder weren't illegal.

"I _hated_ that," she mumbles, rolling sluggishly off of his warm lap and sitting beside him, crossing her arms then forcing herself to let them hang limp by her sides. "Even more than the first part."

There's nothing to hide now. She thinks back on the last couple of weeks, and can't help but be absolutely relieved about all the secrets she doesn't have to keep anymore. The attic stairs extended into the house at large, airing out.

Ruff is going to be proud at least. Maybe not of the tears, but…oh. Ruff.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Hiccup asks, undeniably alarmed as his hands cradle her closer. "You just went all stiff." His forehead presses against the top of her head and she chews on her lip, sheepish.

"There's one more thing…"

"Really?" He freezes beneath her and she sits up, looking carefully at his face.

"Not like that…I mean, just while we're talking about _everything_…" She tries to edge sideways into the confession that seems out of place in the same room as the first.

"This isn't making me feel better."

"I sort of…made out with Ruff the other night." She blurts, and his eyebrows shoot upwards.

"What?"

"I was…it was last week, after we had that fight, and I—I sort of started trying to convince myself that I liked girls so I wouldn't have to tell you all of this, and I made out with Ruff." Hiccup is an absolutely unhealthy shade of red as his hands freeze against her skin.

"You thought about liking girls? And then you kissed Ruff?" He asks, furrowing his eyebrows and staring at her red face, a little too intently.

"Technically, she kissed me," Astrid shrugs, ignoring the downright uncomfortable heat rising in her cheeks. "And before you say it, I swear I didn't _cheat_ on you, it was just absolutely weird and—"

"I—I'm thinking a lot of things right now, but not that you cheated on me," he shifts underneath her and she notices just how much _tighter_ his pants are. She stiffens and pushes her hair behind her ear, suddenly shy.

"So…" she starts, "you aren't _mad_ then."

"You guys didn't—" she laughs embarrassed as he stiffens further, prodding her in the back of the thigh. "You just kissed, right?"

"Yeah, and I decided I'm definitely super straight," Astrid shifts, trying to get comfortable and failing. "I should probably just get off of your lap."

"It's alright, you can stay—"

"I'm honestly sort of scared to bend it again," she admits, sliding onto the bed next to him, resting a demure hand on his knee as his arm stays around her shoulders. Her eyes flit to the bulge in his jeans and she blushes, chewing on her lip and staring pointedly at the wall

"I'm sorry," he mutters after a moment and she rests her head against his shoulder, suppressing the unnaturally strong urge to look _down_.

"Don't be," she laughs. "I don't get it, but I'm not mad."

"What do you mean you don't get it?"

"Why is it so thrilling that Ruff and I made out?" Astrid asks.

"Did you just like kiss or did you two legitimately make out? Like tongues in full on make out? Or—" Hiccup blushes more deeply before clamming up.

"Should I give you a minute?" She suggests and he glares at her, and he's skinny and shirtless and alluring. She bites her lip and scoots closer, thumbing his pant-seam on the outside of his thigh, fixating on the too hot point of contact between her lips and his bare skin.

She wonders if she should tell him about the shower, but she's still not sure how exactly how she wants him to react.

"I'm fine," he defends, his thumb stroking across her shoulder in a measured arc.

"I'm flattered," she admits. "And I'm sure Ruff would be flattered too."

"Don't even think about telling her!" Hiccup covers his face with an embarrassed hand and Astrid reaches up, prying his wrist away from his face and looking at him squarely. "Seriously, she'll never let me live it down. She'll be kissing you all the time just to embarrass me—and don't say that she won't, because she will."

"Oh, I don't doubt that," she laughs. "But she already thinks about your ass enough, I don't want to give her any more information."

"Er, she does?"

"Yeah, but your ass is mine, alright?" Astrid nods resolutely and Hiccup grins.

"Isn't _my…_yeah, sort of definitionally _mine_?"

"Nonsense," she grins, leaning harder into him and sighing too loudly. It takes a moment but her arm reaches across him, wrapping around him and pressing her face harder against his chest. "This…That was exhausting."

"You look happier now," he comments, and she sits up, punching him listlessly in the shoulder and grinning at him.

"I'm…alright," she says, climbing off of the bed and unclasping her belt before hesitating. Hiccup's eyes widen as he leans back onto his hands, gaze following her belt as it falls to the floor with a thunk.

"So…no belt. What's up?"

"Can you do something for me?" She asks with a quiet gulp, cocking her head and looking at him too intently.

"Of course."

"I—what freaked me out originally, on Valentine's day—it was when you moved my clothes. It was—that was the first time I didn't have control here and well…" She sputters slowly, stepping forward towards him and standing oh so unbelievably close. "So can you take off my pants?"

"Can I take off your pants?" He repeats the question and she nods, flushing and obviously nervous. "Alright," he hesitates before gently reaching out and shifting the long hemline of his tee-shirt out of the way and sliding his hands to the button of her jeans. It's far harder than it should be to undo someone else's pants and he fumbles, hands shaking as they glance against her taut lower stomach. She rests a shockingly solid, warm hand on his shoulder and sighs, chewing on her lip and breathing evenly.

The button springs loose and he pulls down the zipper before cautiously reaching around her hips and pushing the pants towards the floor. They get hung up on her butt and he bites his lip, staring past her waist at the wall and breathing too hard as he tugs them past the obstruction. They fall to the ground with a too loud rush of air and he rests his head against her side briefly before sitting back up straight. She grins and steps out of them, looking cautiously at his hands still resting on her bare thighs. He follows her gaze and pulls back with a polite flush, and she feels like her heart could explode.

"Thanks," she nods, stepping out of the pants and watching him take her in. His too big for her tee-shirt keeps it from being too exciting, and his reeling brain holds him back as he looks at her questioningly.

Not that he necessarily has a _problem_ with pants-less Astrid, it's just a surprise.

A nice surprise.

Especially now that he knows what he's dealing with, the problem looks far closer to a solution than it has before. Straight down the middle, he's going to ensure that no one is in control, that they actually cooperate.

She's looking at him the way she usually reserves for post-race food, and it hits him that this might happen tonight, and that's true terror rushing through his mind.

"Why exactly did I take off your pants?" He asks after a too silent moment and she shrugs, face utterly crimson.

"What? You look like you could use a hug," she comments, definitely happier but beyond emotionally exhausted as she tugs at the bottom hemline of his jeans, taking a moment to straighten the still slightly rucked up end of his left pant-leg. His shortened leg curls away from her, tentative and untouched.

"A pants-less hug?"

"Yes," she shrugs, crossing her arms and cocking her hip. His too long shirt rises just enough to show the edge of her underwear and he gulps in spite of himself. "Is there a reason you're flinching?"

"No," he winces, tugging his leg away from her inquisitive hands. It's different when she's worried about the cold, or medically tending to him. This feels personal, private.

He remembers in the hospital when she felt like the opposite privacy.

"Oh come on, how many times have I seen your leg?" She asks gesturing for him to help, because somehow she's not exactly lunging to unbutton his jeans. "I was only there for all your physical therapy, and I was just _massaging_ it a minute ago."

"That was…_medical_," he explains weakly. "This doesn't feel medical. This feels like the exact opposite of medical."

"Right, I left my nurse outfit at home," she jokes, tugging again at his pants. Hiccup glares at her.

"Aren't I the one who makes stupid jokes in serious situations?"

"You weren't doing your job."

"Here, give me my foot back, then I'll take my pants off," he bargains and she looks at him sternly.

"Is there something else we need to talk about?" She asks quietly.

"I think it's pretty self-explanatory," he mumbles, and she grunts frustrated, rolling her eyes.

"Obviously, it's not."

"Well, my _stump_—" She thwacks him with the back of her hand.

"Your _leg_."

"No, Astrid, my stump. It's not exactly hot, is it?" He asks and she scoffs, giving up on his pants for the moment. And she was so looking forward to that _hug_ he so obviously needed, without snaps and seams digging into her.

"Right, because my little sob-fest talking about my dad was devastatingly sexy," she snarks and he chews on the inside of his cheek.

"You needed to talk about that," he defends.

"And I feel better now," she admits, sitting back on the bed and crossing her legs. It takes most of Hiccup's self-control not to glance down at her surely showing underwear. "I'm listening."

"I—I don't want to step all over your feelings time," he suggests and she punches him in the thigh.

"I'm done with feelings time," she asserts and he frowns, biting his lip.

"It's just what I said. Having stumpy out isn't exactly _sexy_."

"I wasn't going for _sexy_. I'd settle for nudity without _crying_," she mumbles and Hiccup gulps. Nudity is terrifying in two directions. He can't tell what's more nerve wracking, her being naked, or him being naked.

"It's my foot. I can be naked and still have my foot," he grumbles.

"No, _you_ can't," she tells him and he rubs his hands over his eyes.

"Astrid, do you even know how _perfect_ you are?" she flinches at the word and flushes, understanding its current connotation. It's not horrible when Hiccup touches her, or looks at her, or even when he tries to protect her. And if she's getting over the rest of this, she's damn sure that she's not going to go through the rest of her life being afraid of a _word_.

"And I'm here, choosing to get naked with you." The _naked_ word seems exciting, like the props in a haunted house. Goosebumps sprout on her legs and she's beyond glad that she shaved for her race.

He stares at her blankly and her timid-ness meter for the moment abruptly runs out as she pulls his shirt over her head, dropping it on the floor.

"You're turn," she challenges, crossing her arms and cocking that infernal hip. "And I don't care about your foot," she adds quietly as he stares at her like she's a few kernels short of a cob. "I like taking care of you."

"Yeah, because it's so much fun—"

"Seriously. I owe you, I like taking care of you," she shrugs, her voice honest.

"You don't owe me."

"I like taking care of you," she quips and bites her lip. "And I honestly stopped keeping count of who owes who. I love you, it's not a trading floor."

He sheepishly makes eye contact.

"Would you still honestly be with me if I hadn't lost my foot—Ow!" She slugs him in the ribs.

"You're an idiot."

"What? It's an honest question—" She cocks her fist back. "Don't hit me again!"

"Stop saying idiotic things," she threatens before forcing herself calm. "And of course I'd still be with you. I was with you _before_ it happened, even if you don't remember."

"But it wasn't official…"

"What? Do you need a certificate?" She asks, and he smiles wryly.

"Gold embossed." She backhands him more gently.

"I love you with or without your foot," she grins, "but probably more without."

"Oh, what? Because your love for my foot had to be redistributed over the rest of me?" He asks and she nods, laughing.

"Exactly." Neither of their _issues_ are erased, but at least everything is out in the open, unless Hiccup has some grave secret he's not telling her. In the orb of existence of this room, everything is ok.

"And I have no idea what I'm doing," he reminds her in a too small voice and she resists the urge to roll her eyes.

"What you're doing about what?" She asks, playing dumb. "I'm pretty sure you know how to get naked."

"If we…I've never—I have absolutely no idea what to _do_," he admits, and no matter how sad his self-doubt is, she can't help but be glad that there's some small, happy, awkward gap to actually talk about this.

"I know," she tells him and he avoids eye contact. She sighs and rethinks, scratching her thigh and feeling oddly gratified when his eyes fixate momentarily on her legs. "You can't be worse than Scott…" she comforts with a shrug before worrying that the comparison just made things worse. "I mean, I'm sure if—You're the smartest guy I've ever met, I'm sure it's not _calculus_ down there." She chews on her lip and they both glance at her horribly plain white underwear before making hesitant eye contact.

"If we do anything tonight," he amends quietly and she nods, equally full of trepidation and some mysterious anxiousness. She almost wishes it'd just happen, so she can stop worrying over it.

"Yeah, if anything happens," she nods in cautious agreement. "Or I guess _whenever_ it does happen."

"I—I tried to research it," he laughs, exasperated as he scratches his chin and looks carefully only at her face. "Everything I found was ridiculous. I have a list of like two thousand things not to try at this point," he admits.

"I'm sure you'll be fine," she comforts, smiling warmly at his flushed cheeks and shivering as she misses his warmth. "But for right now…" she fidgets with the hemline of her tank top. "You know, it's still your turn," she reminds him, looking meaningfully at his jeans. He stares at her wide eyed and nervous for a moment before cheekily leaning down and pulling off his lone sock, dropping it on the floor.

"Your turn," he grins nervously and she punches him in the arm.

"That doesn't count. I swear you'd make a great lawyer," she insults, fiddling with the bottom of her tank top before brusquely tugging it over her head. The cool air of the room is an assault as she defiantly drops her shirt, staring him down. "Your turn," she repeats and he sighs, hands shaking as he unbuttons his pants and pushes them down past his butt. She watches eerily appraisingly as he kicks them off the edge of the bed.

He looks over at her, she smiles gently.

The warmth is back, heavy and strange in her chest as her eyes trace from his slightly broadened shoulders down to narrow hips. Her gaze hitches briefly at the obviously hard shape in his boxers, far more obvious than it had been in his jeans, before she continues down, stopping to smile to herself at his mismatched feet. That's just…Hiccup.

And it couldn't be more right.

He's equally lost, stuck between worrying over her protuberant ribs and salivating at the sheer expanse of creamy golden skin. He traces up the gentle swoop of her waist to the swelling of her chest.

He's going to get to touch all that.

She stares at him for another awkward moment, unsure of what to do.

And why, oh why, couldn't she wear cute underwear today?

Half of her wants to take them off and jump on him, but that seems too forward. _Forward_ hasn't worked out so well.

"So…straight down the middle?" She asks, alluding to his earlier plan.

Oh god. They're going to do this. It feels as important as it should.

"What?" he asks, sitting up and glancing around the room.

"That was your brilliant plan earlier," her arms anticlimactically fall to her sides.

"Oh…er, right." Hiccup leans forward, tentatively placing a hand on her muscled waist. She gasps at the unexpectedly warm, gentle contact. Her skin tingles madly and Hiccup smiles at the _open_ reaction. "Is that ok?"

"It's fine. Good." She focuses on his face, his wide green eyes and fuchsia flushed cheeks.

"Really?" His thumb timidly smoothes the skin immediately under her breast and she gasps. He grins.

"Yeah," she laughs lightly, pleasurably shocked that it does feel good. His hand slides up her side, thumb tenderly sliding up and over her breast, flicking over her immediately hardening nipple. She squeaks and leans forward, kissing him soundly on the mouth. His hand against her is warm, wonderfully overwhelmingly warm as it cups her chest, playing against her skin.

Hiccup.

She lets her mind dwell solely on Hiccup, his eyes, his hands, his clean and overwhelmingly comforting smell.

She clambers over his lap, kissing him deeply as her hands hold fast against the back of his neck. Her fingers fist in his hair, tilting his chin up towards her and shoving her tongue down his throat. His hands slide too timidly to her upper back and the power rush makes her dizzy as the position becomes too familiar.

She freezes up, despair settling over her heart as it starts not working. She accidently nips his lip too hard, pulling back and frowning.

He takes the cue and flips them, hovering nervously over her as the bed bounces quietly under them. She's half proud that he flipped her so easily and half surprised to find herself staring up at him. He ducks his head and kisses the side of her neck gently. She cocks her head, exposing more skin to him as her hands skate up his bare back, gripping lightly at the faded accordion of his ribs.

"That's…alright," she mumbles, and he pulls back looking at her with a timid grin.

"Just alright?"

"Nice," she amends, unnaturally happy that he's still focused on her _face_.

"Really?" He grins and she flushes, pulling him back down with a hand on the back of his head.

"I didn't say _stop_," she urges and he snickers, kissing down and across her collarbone.

"Has anyone," kiss, "told you how," kiss, "bossy you are?" She nods, chin bobbing against his floppy hair.

"You have, a couple times…" she tries for humor but ends up gasping as his hand joins his mouth, sliding oh so _gently_ around the side of her chest. His thumb flicks across the peak of her breast, unbearably tender and she bites back a groan. He smiles against her neck and sucks an obvious hickey below her ear.

She bends her knee, cautiously rubbing her thigh between his against the cotton covered tent in his underwear.

She suddenly wants to rush for an entirely new reason as the warmth roars, throbbing almost menacingly in her stomach. He groans low in his throat at the contact of her knee and she rubs harder, his hips bucking in spite of himself against her. She grabs his hair with one hand, tugging him back to her mouth.

"I can't believe this is happening," he mumbles, laughing against her lips as he cautiously palms at her chest, groaning as her hand slips under his boxers, grabbing at his ass.

"I know," she answers, strangely comfortable at half-dominance below him.

"I mean, 24 hours ago, I didn't think this would ever happen," he nibbles her neck and she subconsciously digs her fingernails into his rear. He jolts against her thigh and she hisses.

When did she start sweating?

Almost naked making out is fantastic.

"Shut up…" she moans as he kisses down her cleavage, savoring the creamy golden skin.

"I mean, I came here to break up with you and now—" He babbles, losing himself in the wonderful—

"What?" Astrid slams on the brakes, shoving him off of her and scrambling to the foot of the bed. She tugs the comforter around herself, and he almost falls to the floor as the blanket is ripped out from under him.

They stare at each other silently, still breathing hard.

00000

**Well, Hiccup needs to learn that shut up thing, doesn't he? **

**Anyway, I don't have much to say, besides thank you, and I look forward to the feedback that you guys feel I deserve! **


	22. Chapter 22

**So…you guys asked for this to come quickly, and you asked loudly. I could not appreciate those 60 reviews in one night any more than I do, and I hope that the early update is a decent thank you! So here it is. **

00000

"Astrid—"

"You came here to break up with me?" She hates how shrill she sounds, grating voice echoing off of the walls.

"I—"

"Oh my god, freaking rich kids. Who flies halfway across the world to break up with someone? That's ridiculous. You could have just waited until I got home." Astrid snaps, feeling preposterous and exposed.

"I wanted to be sure we'd still be friends," he defends quietly, the holes in his argument starkly apparent. "I thought that if I reset—"

"Flying across the Atlantic isn't exactly a friendly gesture, Hiccup. That's kind of up there with the most—Ugh!" She gives up, pulling the blanker over her head, cocooning her reeling brain. "You don't just hop across the pond to break up with someone. It's not a pond."

"I always thought that was a stupid saying."

"Hmph," Astrid responds, curling into a too naked ball under the covers.

For all the hours that she's sat being afraid of losing him, she never imagined she was actually this close. It was always looming in the future, like aging and death, unavoidable but beyond her frame of reference.

She's so unbelievably glad for whatever she said or did to change his mind, at the same time as she's nauseous with the crippling, disgusting fear of him remaining unconvinced boiling over in her brain.

And beyond all that she's _angry_.

Angry that he gave up on her, if only for a few hours. He's the only one who's never done that, the only one that's maintained that seamless faith that she can do whatever she sets her mind to.

"I was hoping this wouldn't come up," he mumbles, grabbing his shirt off of the floor and pulling it on. Astrid responds with a malevolent aura of silence, and there's no doubt in his mind that if she were clothed, he'd be bleeding. He's also smart enough to know that he probably deserves it. "I know, I brought it up." He looks around the room, lips drawn together in anxious indecision. "That was a really shitty time to say that, wasn't it. We were actually getting along."

"No shit." She snarls from under the covers, curling into a tighter ball.

He should probably explain himself.

"I—I was worried about you. And I sure wasn't being Hiccup the helpful as your boyfriend. It was because I thought you might need a friend—" He babbles stiltedly.

"They aren't mutually exclusive!" She barks, but Hiccup can't help but notice she sounds less _coiled_ than a moment before.

Still terrifying, but less an angry pride of lions and more a furious individual tiger.

"I know." He relents, "you used to talk to me. Before we were dating, and you still sort of hated me—"

"I never hated you. You were just annoying."

"You know what I mean, when I—before—Er yeah. When I got you to tell me about—" Her dad. It's still an elephant in the room, but at least he can avoid that corner now.

"Only because you _irritated_ it out of me."

"Excuse me for being less irritating," he quips.

"You are just as irritating as ever," she assures him, imperceptibly loosening the blanket tugged close around her shoulders.

"And it wasn't exactly weaseling information out of you."

"I didn't want you to know," she defends.

"I think we can agree that I needed to know."

"Stop turning this around on me!" Astrid snaps as guilt starts to well in her chest. "You were going to break up with me. Your fault."

"Yeah, and the _break _was completely brilliant."

"I didn't know what else to do," she spits through gritted teeth.

"Yeah, well, neither did I. I just…I wondered if we needed to restart."

"I'm not a _computer_."

"I didn't know what to do," he grumbles, wondering just how deeply he just gouged whatever they'd been rebuilding.

The worst part of the tense silence that follows is the constant streak of the 'should have's' running through his mind. Most prominent is the fact that he should have shut up when she asked him to and concentrated on the already difficult task at hand.

Of course having _sex_ with _Astrid_ within minutes of her telling him _everything_ isn't difficult enough. Better piss her off too.

Maybe he's a masochist.

Who's he kidding? He's in love with Astrid Hofferson, queen of violence. Of course he's a masochist.

And now he's probably never going to discover just how much of a masochist he really is, because he ticked her off. And she's going to get dressed. Forever. And they're never going to fix this.

"You—I've been spending days worrying about losing you," she starts, teary voice embarrassing. "And you can just…give _me_ up?" And it sounds petty and selfish and so overwhelmingly honest that a sob tears its way out of her throat.

"That wasn't—I never wanted to give you up. I just didn't know how to help you, I didn't know what to do."

"So you were going to just dump me?" She curls up, hugging her knees and wishing for a shirt as more shameful sobs threaten to suffocate her. "You were just going to give up and—you don't give up. You aren't someone who gives u-up, but you were just going to up and—" Her voice fails her and hides her face in the mattress, wishing the darkness would swallow her whole.

"I wasn't giving up," he insists, resting a careful hand over the shaking lump of her shoulder. She shrugs him off violently, curling into a tighter ball and chewing on her lip to avoid sobbing. "I just…I don't know how to do this, Astrid. I don't know how to be a _boyfriend_, and I didn't know how to fight with you."

"You did a bang up job." And how much he hurt her is horrifyingly audible and he swallows hard.

"I was mean."

"Yeah, you were."

"I didn't—I wanted to fix this," he defends feebly.

"Because dumping me is completely how to do that."

"I didn't want to break up with you," his hand lands tentatively on her foot, and it's the hand that soothed so many crazy dogs. She freezes and curls her toes against his palm, and somehow kicking it off feels pointless.

She lets it be, huffing indignantly.

"Then why did you fly over here, again."

"To fix this," he admits quietly. "I—I'll admit my tactic was…stupid." She snorts in agreement, wet and miserable. Her face is probably bright red and she never wants to come out. "Really stupid, but I was just hoping that if we could just reset everything then it would be better and…it was really stupid." He squeezes her foot and rubs it gently with a thumb. "And how I told you was even stupider."

"I don't even think that's a word," she snaps, and it's not fair for him to rub her foot on the day of a race. It's giving an apple to teacher, it's kissing up.

And it feels so goddamn good. Only Hiccup makes her feel good like this, goes out of his way for her comfort. Only Hiccup would fly across an ocean on a hair-brained prayer.

Only Hiccup makes her this angry and emotional.

"Fine, more stupid," he corrects, letting her win. She sighs as he gives up the bait, taking his hand off of her foot and scooting down the bed, giving her space.

She doesn't want space.

"You still…want to be with me right?" The mumble is barely audible as the pinnacle of weakness wells in her eyes and spills down her cheeks.

Again.

For what feels like the thousandth time today.

"Of course I do. I'd just rather be happy and your friend than miserable and lonely and your boyfriend."

Oh.

That makes a lot of sense.

Why didn't he just say it like that in the first place?

"You were miserable?" Astrid asks, swallowing a sob defiantly.

"You weren't exactly _skipping_."

She laughs wetly at the word and peeks out from her blanket cocoon, eyeing him suspiciously. She doesn't like the space he gave her and she pushes soggy hair off of her face, trying valiantly to compose herself.

"And it changed your mind when I told you?"

"It changed my mind when you were acting normal, and laughing, and…yeah."

"I had an attitude adjustment." She thinks back to talking with Gobber, and the team.

"I like the new attitude," she grins at him, sitting up against the wall and tugging the blanket around her. Her fist flies out of its own accord, punching him in the shoulder slightly harder than what could be construed as flirtatious. He flinches and she feels more than a little bit vindicated.

"Where did you get the brilliant idea to break up with me anyway?" She snaps, sarcastic and hiding hurt that's somehow not as deep as it could be.

Hiccup is going to say stupid things, he's Hiccup. His filter is…lacking, and he's too funny for his own good. She's always known that and if she wants him, she'll forgive him.

And she wants him around.

"Honestly, my computer blue screened me and I had to restart it," he shrugs sheepishly, eyes so hopeful it could kill her, and she rolls her eyes.

"I'm not a computer," she repeats, hand tentatively resting on the bed between them. He rests his hand on top of hers and she grins politely.

"I know you're not, it was stupid, I was just—"

"Babbling?" She asks and he nods. "You do that."

"I'm working on it."

"So, before we get distracted again," he gulps and she smiles, feeling drippy and everything less than pretty. "Is there anything else you need to tell me? You didn't bring along a troll to set me up with or anything, right?"

"No troll this time," he laughs, just cold enough to be tempted to ask her for some blanket. She sees him eyeing it and holds out one side in offering. He takes her up on it, sitting next to her against the wall and aligning a sinewy arm across those delightfully bare shoulders. "And I don't think I have anything else—Oh, yeah." He halts awkwardly and she looks up at him.

"Oh no," she laughs, more nervous than she really should be.

"You were erm, right about Heather," He mumbles and she raises her eyebrows.

"Do I want to hear this?"

"If _this_ is referring to me yelping and turning her down in the departure drop off lane at the airport, then you probably do."

"She drove you?" Astrid asks.

"No one else supported my big plan and I was running late enough without worrying about parking. Fishlegs hung up on me when I told him." Hiccup sheepishly looks at their three lined up feet. "Not even Scott would give me a ride, but I think that has more to do with worrying about me looking too cool…" Astrid laughs.

"So, she was pretty eager for us to break up, huh?"

"I guess so," he laughs. "I don't know how I didn't see it coming."

"I do," Astrid grins. "Your ego is tiny because it got cramped out of your brain by all of that _math_."

"Only you could turn small ego-d into an insult."

"So now Heather is positively sure that you two are never going to happen?" Astrid redirects the conversation probably a little too eagerly and Hiccup shoots her a look.

"Absolutely."

"Well…I do feel fine about you two hanging out together now that you can recognize a pass for what it is."

"She wasn't making _passes_ at me—" he defends, flushing.

"That's exactly what she was doing."

"And I don't think she's going to want to hang out anytime soon," Hiccup frowns. "Plus, I think she had some weird power couple thing planned. Only liked me for the…yeah," he gestures to his leg and Astrid comfortingly grabs his thigh under the blanket.

"I'm sure she didn't like you _only _because of your leg," Astrid comforts and he shrugs.

"As long as I never have to see Forrest Gump again, I'll get over it," he laughs and she leans into his side, unnaturally comfortable. She doesn't want to be mad at him, she wants to sit here with him and be happy.

Her mind wanders back to what they were doing before he said one of the dumbest things possible, and her thumb strokes through the coarse hair above his knee.

"Jenn-ay…" Astrid mocks and he tries and fails to glare at her. She yawns and stretches her hands over her head, looking at him carefully over her shoulder before shifting sideways, laying on her back with her head in his lap. "So I guess I should ask if I can stay before I get too comfortable," she mumbles, idly shoving his shirt up his stomach and dipping a curious finger into his navel.

"You probably should have asked before getting mostly naked," he laughs, obediently taking his shirt back off and earning an interested grin. She spreads her fingers out over his stomach, placing each tip on a freckle and dragging them inward lightly enough to give him goosebumps.

"I could, you know, just get dressed," she laughs, twisting and fluttering kisses along his lowest rib. He shivers as her tongue curiously darts out and feathers over the subtle rise of bone.

"Don't underestimate how much I want you undressed," he laughs, voice probably lower than it's ever been. _He_ nudges her in the back of the head when she shifts to get comfortable and the warmth builds.

Suddenly she's not so tired anymore.

"Seriously though, am I staying or…?" She asks, stretching in a way that _almost_ makes the blanket fall blissfully away.

"If you don't mind Gobber's wrath," he laughs, "I definitely want you to stay."

"Psh, what wrath? He's going to be happy we made up," she grins, then blushes. "He thinks I'm way nicer when we're together."

"Yeah, because you take out all of your meanness on me—Ow!" He yelps as she pinches his stomach. The flat plane of muscle twitches almost violently and she kisses it again. It spasms subtly against her lips.

She grins.

It was eternally impersonal appreciating Scott's sculpted body, something expected and biological. This is completely different, and she wonders how she managed to quell the urge to touch him for all this time. There's a nearly unnatural thrill in tracing his fascinating flat muscles, feeling him squirm under her touch.

She was an idiot for _complaining_ about his shirtless-ness. She's never letting him get dressed again.

"Have I mentioned that I like this?" She asks, gesturing broadly at his shirtless chest and relaxing, utterly in an element she didn't know that she had. Sure, she could admire the way Scott's muscled bulged and contorted, shouting sexuality like a cheer, but there's something about the quiet strength of Hiccup's barely there definition.

She rests her palm against over his navel and spreads her fingers out again, sliding her palm down and feeling the subtle ridges of his abs. His skin twitches underneath her touch and she slides her hand up and over the barely there fissure between his pecs. She wishes he weren't sitting, and it were easier to reach around to his ass.

"Like what?" He asks, trying to calm down and avoid poking her in the back of the head. That is asking a little much though, when she's looking up at him like that head in his lap, blue eyes wide and more trusting than she'd ever admit with her hair spread over his lap like a halo she'd never want.

And oh god, she's still shirtless…

"I like this," she says again, tone frustrated as she smoothes a hand up his chest to fiddle with the divot between his still sharp collar bones.

"What are you gesturing to?"

"All of this," she runs a too unbelievably smooth palm down over his stomach and his whole body shivers at the thought of her going _lower_ and _lower_. She bites her lip.

"You don't have to lie to me," he laughs and she pinches him again.

"I'm not lying, I'm trying to give you a compliment," she gripes and he shakes his head.

"Right, and I'm sure Ruff was just being honest when she said that you 'waxed poetic' on my ass," he rolls his eyes, wry tone covering embarrassment with an opaque shield.

"Well, I didn't _rhyme_," Astrid rolls her eyes, trying not to blush. "And I can't believe she told you that. I told her that in confidence."

"So…" he trails off awkwardly biting his lip as his hand idly twists in her hair. "You think I'm…good-looking." It's not really a question, more of a soft statement, an affirmation. She glares at him.

"Of course I think you're good looking," she rolls her eyes. "Why would you just assume that I don't find you attractive?"

"Because I'm not," he shrugs. "But then there's Heather, and now you're saying—"

"Ugh, really?" she snaps, sitting up sharply, momentarily forgetting her state of undress and shivering as the blanket falls down around her waist. His eyes glance down and she leans back on her hands with a sigh, summoning her confidence. "Eyes up here," she nearly growls. "And why would Heather being interested in you somehow matter more than me?"

"Flukes happen," he mutters, too serious and Astrid sighs.

"I'm not a fluke," she tells him, bitingly honest. "You're…" She halts and thinks, maintaining scalding eye-contact as a tell-tale blush spreads down her throat. "Well, you're not huge, and you have a gap in your teeth, and your hair is sometimes ridiculous—"

"Thanks for the pep talk," he grimace, forced to choose between the awkwardness of looking her in the eye or looking _down_.

"But it's infuriating when your shirt rides up and I suddenly can't breathe, and your smile is…it's the warmest thing in the room. And your hair…well, you wouldn't be Hiccup if you didn't look at least a little ridiculous," she smiles.

"I think that's way over your speech quota for the night," he grins.

"Shut up," she laughs, laying back down and tugging the blanket up to her armpits. He frowns and she rolls her eyes. "You made fun of my speech."

"Note to self, don't make fun of Astrid's speeches," he grumbles and she shifts on his lap, blinking too slowly as she stares up at the underside of his chin, oddly captivated.

"I'm…so, what exactly are we doing now?" She asks in an attempt to hand off control, her hand stroking idly at his stomach.

She keeps waiting to get scared, but it's almost serene. She matches her breathing to the rise and fall of his chest, fiddling with the coarse trail of hair winding down from his navel.

"Maybe we should just go to sleep," he offers and she shrugs, her tired muscles nagging at her while her mind goes a mile a minute. Her hand dances along his skin like she's discovering some rare artifact, and she feels all those warm butterflies that normally confuse her.

Right now, they seem to make a whole lot of sense.

"One condition," she muses rakishly, surprised and awed to feel confidence surging forward from its normal epicenter.

"Why am I afraid of that?" He laughs.

"We should sleep naked," she grins, snapping the waistband of his boxers against his hips.

"Why?" He asks, laughing and crimson.

"So that we can get used to the idea," she hedges with a nervous grin, reaching down and grabbing his hand, dragging it to the waistband of her underwear. "Help me out here?" She waits for the fear but only laughs as he looks at her, absolutely shocked.

"Where'd _this _come from?" He sits up nervously and she shrugs.

"What?" She carefully folds his fingers over the edge of her underwear and starts to push them down, biting her lip when he takes over the motion, fingers glancing perilously close to her center. She snatches them back from his hand and tosses them flippantly over the edge of the bed. "I thought you'd like it."

"I do," he nods emphatically, cautious hand stroking at the golden skin of her bare shoulder. "I'm just…what if it's too much?"

"I figure if I don't like something," she slips a finger under the side of his waistband, wiggling it pointedly against his hip. "I'll just say so. It's not like I have any secrets worth keeping at this point."

The open gate of honesty is beyond refreshing. He smiles, anxious but trying to trust her as he urges her off of his lap, hooking his thumbs in his underwear and pushing them down. She does her best not to stare, flushing and letting the blanket slip off of her shoulders. She's sure that this shouldn't be so oddly comfortable, but it's a pleasant surprise.

"Hey, we managed nudity without tears," he celebrates quietly and she laughs, swallowing what would probably be a nervous giggle.

"Third time is the charm," she flushes, her eyes wandering out of her control before she forces them back to his face. "I—" she starts, setting her jaw and steeling herself as she leans forward and kisses him.

It's intense just knowing that there's no barrier between them and she bites back a groan, wrapping a hand around the back of his neck and holding him close and shuffling forward until their knees touch. His hands find her waist, and they're tentative and too light, tickling at her skin. She reaches up and grabs his wrist, and even while the shrinking damaged part of her is yanking his touch away, she presses his fingers closer, leaning forward to nudge against him.

There's something completely intoxicating about the way her amazingly, fantastically soft chest _melts_ against his side and he shivers, his hand sliding shyly up the groove of her spine in her muscled back. He cups the back of her head, fingers tangling in soft gold, and she moans into his mouth as her hands explore his chest with almost rough fingers, probing and searching.

She digs into his side and leans harder into him, her tongue plundering his mouth as she pointedly ignores her need to breathe.

"I—I thought you wanted to sleep," he laughs, pulling back after a minute and attempting to hide his nerves. This feels more possible than it ever has.

He throbs with the memory of every time she touched him, and tries to keep his eyes on her face.

"Then you got naked," she shrugs and he looks at her with narrowed eyes. She grins.

"You told me to get naked."

"Yeah, I did," she bites her lip, breathing a little too hard as she takes him in along with all the recently forbidden things she wants to do rush through her head. "I'll stop if I want to," she warns him flatly, eyes serious for a moment.

"I figured," he nods, ready to be finished for the night. It seems too soon, too close to everything she told him.

She bowls him into the wall, climbing onto his lap and kissing him almost too roughly, gripping his shoulders like he's trying to get away.

Well, Astrid has always been fast. And insane.

Her kisses slow down after a moment, and he hesitantly pulls her closer along his thighs, groaning when he brushes up against her. She rocks her hips into him experimentally and they both gasp as his hands tighten on her back.

God, he can feel how utterly warm and close she is…and is that _dampness_?

He bites back a groan as every memory of her small strong hand rushes back full force, an onslaught to his suddenly deeply deprived libido. His hand slides eagerly up her blissfully smooth side, palming at her breast and almost too gently rolling the suddenly hard nub of her pink nipple between his fingers. She whines into his mouth as her hands start to tremble, gripping too hard to his shoulders while her core throbs like a wound.

She's very suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to continue.

This has never felt _good_ before, it's never been anything but demeaning to be touched like this. She feels like a violin given to a concerto musician by an over-eager six year old.

"You can do _that_ anytime," she mumbles against his cheek, closing her eyes.

"Really?" He asks, bringing his hand around to her other breast, giving them the same careful attention. She nods, core clenching almost ominously as she kisses the side of his neck.

"Yeah, that's alright," she sucks on the skin of his shoulder, leaving a purplish mark behind and grinning to herself. "More than alright." He grins and continues, so gently palming her chest as her knees start to shake. "Keep going?" He leaves one hand against her chest and explores with the other and she kisses him softly.

She wonders what else will feel good as his hand slides ghost light and curious down her stomach, almost glancing against her center before it pulls her impossibly closer by the point of her hip. His tongue dives deeper, and more confident into her mouth as she bends under his touch, rocking her hips forward against his involuntarily.

When—not if, _when_—they actually have sex, is it going to be…well, worth it? Is it going to feel good, is she going to like being so close to him, getting as close to sharing space as is realistically possible?

She likes his solid, throbbing shaft in her hand, likes feeling him fall apart under her touch. She wants to kiss every square inch of him, wants to love everything she can get her hands on, wants to erase the pain she caused. She pulls away from his lips with an awkwardly loud pop, her hands landing suddenly resolute on his shoulders.

"What's up?" He asks, hands falling concerned away from her skin.

"I'm trying something," she declares, reeling away from his mouth just far enough for him to latch onto her neck. He remembers the last time she announced that, right before the first time she kissed him. He's open to any of her ideas, as long as they don't involve parkas…

He never wants her to get dressed again.

She slides back and he's momentarily disappointed at the rush of cold air between them. That is until her hand wraps around his shaft and she leans down, staring at it in a way that would be nerve-wracking if her touch didn't feel so fantastic. She strokes him slowly, thumb smoothing too steadily around his tip.

She licks her lips and frowns.

Scott always asked for this. He brought it up relentlessly every time they even thought about getting naked.

It seems oddly right to do it now, to shed the potential of being _demeaned_, to give Hiccup something she hasn't tried before she sends him through the ringer of everything she wishes she hadn't.

She wishes she'd had the chance to wait for Hiccup. She wishes she'd even considered saving this for the right time, rather than racing her friends to some sort of badge.

"Erm, what are you doing?" He asks after a minute, shifting uncomfortably in his seat as she stares at his crotch and he tries not to stare at her ass.

It is _very _nice though. He's appreciating, not staring. That's better, right?

"I told you, I'm trying something," she hesitates, sliding her hand up his shaft and playing at the lip of his head with her thumb. He shivers and she bites her lip, staring up at him. "I've never done this before," she admits, forcing her voice to a normal volume when somehow she wants to whisper.

"Done wha—oh." He trails off into a near squeak as she leans forward and slides her lips over his tip. There's almost too much to be elated about between what she just admitted and how the warm, wet—"Oh wow."

She almost laughs at the reaction, frowning slightly as she tries to figure out her next move. As always, the plunge is easy, it's the next step that screws her. She lets her tongue slack, curiously taking a moment to taste him, running her tongue around the almost velvety tip in her mouth. It's not what she thought, she figured it'd be strong and probably odious, but it's not really much different than the rest of him.

She runs her tongue around his tip, trying to trace an artful circle and probably failing. Hiccup nearly whimpers, flopping back against the wall with a thud and a groan.

Kissing Astrid is fantastic. He loves her small eager lips on his, moving almost frantically against his on the couch at the end of a too long day. He loves it when she kisses his neck, leaving red marks on his skin and fluttering her eyelashes against his jaw. He likes soggy, too early, morning breath kisses and hurried pecks on the lips. He likes surprise kisses on the top of the head when she sneaks up on him doing homework.

Her mouth on around his shaft is the best thing he's ever felt.

Knowing he's the first to feel it is even better.

He distractedly rubs at the robin's egg forming on the back of his head, blinking slowly and staring at the ceiling.

"Are you ok?" She asks, barely pulling up enough to ask, and he looks down at her, blanching and flushing scarlet. She likes his eyes on her more than she'd ever admit as she licks the side of his shaft, grinning boldly as she can manage before slipping him back into her mouth, exhaling calmly through her nose.

She's not exactly sure why she's drooling so much, but it seems to make everything easier. Her back arches as she tries to improve the angle and his hand lands on her spine, twitching fingers caressing the skin.

Even now, he's trying to make her feel _good_.

It doesn't seem like a bad thing anymore, and she presses back into his touch, exploring cautiously with her tongue, sucking gently on his head with pursed lips.

He hisses and throbs in her mouth and she leans down, carefully opening her jaw and taking in another inch of him. She lets her hand grip his base as she bobs slightly, tilting her head to glimpse up at him. He jolts and very cautiously rests a hand on her head. She repeats the motion and he sighs, relaxing as his fingers nest in her hair.

She freezes and pulls off, hand still gripping him.

"Oh sorry—" He goes to pull his hand away from her hair and she nods to herself, head nudging into his retreating palm practically of its own accord.

"It's fine, just…gentle…" she urges him, free hand on her knee as she pumps his shaft once before taking him back into her mouth.

The hand feels nice, surprisingly, and even though she recognizes the possibility, she's sure that he wouldn't try and shove her head down. His fingernails scratch at her scalp, and she scoots her knees up, trying to improve her leverage.

Inching down further, her lips touch against her thumb as she cocks her head, searching for a more comfortable angle. He jerks and squeaks, hand tugging at her hair. She pulls up and frowns at him, somehow peeved about her _fun_ being cut short.

That was kind of _fun_.

"What?" She snips, wiping the back of her hand across her overly moist mouth as indignantly as she can manage.

"Teeth," he manages through a pant. "No teeth."

"There were teeth?" She asks, trying to remember if she bit down at all.

"Little bit," he nods, and everything about his flushed trembling chest keeps her from being self-conscious. Obviously he's enjoying it.

"I'll work on it," she grins and cautiously cups her tired jaw with a warm hand before continuing unthinking. "My jaw is getting tired, it's a bit of an awkward position."

"It's fine, you can be done," he offers, trying so hard to be polite. He doesn't want her to stop, but the last thing he wants to do is make her feel forced.

"No, it's alright. It's…it's interesting," she insists, hand stroking his now moist flesh. "It feels good?"

"Absolutely—ooh," he squeaks as she engulfs him yet again, warm and wet and laving against his skin. She bobs her head experimentally and grins as much as she really can when his hips buck towards her. Something about the combination of that insufferable warmth wrapped around his air cooled shaft and the fact that she's _enjoying _this on some level is too much and he taps almost frantically on her shoulder. She glares at him. "What is it this time? I know there were no teeth."

"I'm not going to last much longer," he tells her, too worked up to be properly embarrassed.

"Ok," she shrugs, idly pumping her hand and liking it way too much when his eyes fall shut.

"Oh yeah," he mumbles, before his eyes pop open, flushed and embarrassed. "Er, sorry…"

"It's ok," She assures him, almost shy as her hand pivots carefully around him. "It's kind of hot."

"Erm…this is _hot_ for you?" He asks and she kisses across his stomach, before slipping him back past her lips and sucking enough to make him squirm. He falls out of her lips with a pop and she grins up at his gasping face, eyes rolled back into his skull.

"Well, _that's_ hilarious," she snickers, still pumping and pumping and pumping, tempting his brain to explode.

"Thanks," he mumbles, so sarcastic it's painful.

"But I'm enjoying myself," she admits quietly.

"R-really close," he warns, bucking into her hand and throwing his elbow over his eyes with a groan.

"Ok," she stares down at him, wide eyed, before bending down and sucking him into her mouth, working her tongue around the flesh. His hands fly down to her hair, trying to pull her off as he finally twitches, spraying against the back of her throat.

She pulls back hacking, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and grimacing around the slightly bitter flavor. After the initial thick swallow that tests her gag reflex, she doesn't really mind the taste, there's something fantastic about having him that _close_ to her.

"Holy crap," he wipes a hand over his face, sitting up with bleary eyes. She grins at him, feeling far too accomplished.

"So, bed?" She crawls under the sheets, still half sitting and looks squarely over at him.

"Astrid," he starts, looking too meaningfully at her and she bites her lip.

"What?" She asks crossing her arms and staring at the bed.

"You…I just want to try," he hedges, staring at her carefully, still red-faced and shaking.

"In a bit?" She asks, "If we're awake…I mean, I'm taking the time to adjust," she tells him as brusquely as she can manage, quivering for almost no discernable reason. She did that for him, because of him, and she's equal parts curious and worried that nothing could ever live up to what just happened. "I mean, that was…I'm a little out of breath and—That was good."

"Well it was horrible for me," he jokes, grinning broadly, still flushed down past his chest.

"I could tell. Must have been torturous," she smiles and pats the bed next to her. "Just…give me a minute."

"Ok," he smiles.

She told him. She told him she needed space without prodding. Things might actually be _different_ now.

Not to mention that his entire body is buzzing and trembling beneath his skin. And she's so beautiful, absolutely naked and blushing in front of him.

"Oh!" She remembers her exploration from the day before. "I meant to tell you, but earlier it seemed like it'd be too much," she remembers the too soon arousal under her seat as soon as she relayed the Ruff information. "I masturbated yesterday."

His completely satisfied member twitches in his lap.

"Er…why did you mean to tell me that?" He asks and she punches him in the arm, glaring at him for squandering the spirit of her discovery.

"Because it was the first time I…well, the first time I—" Came. Orgasmed. Finished. "Yeah."

"The first time you what?"

"Completed…" she hedges awkwardly and he blushes an impossible shade deeper. "I thought of you," she shrugs, changing the subject and he rubs the back of his neck, distracted and absolutely awkward. "I mean, while I was doing it." She continues stiffly, chewing on her lower lip.

"Er, really?" He raises doubting eyebrows and she nods, biting her lower lip. "What exactly did you think about?"

"You," she shrugs, tugging the sheets tight around herself and flopping back into the bed.

"And that was—wow, that was enough?" He asks and she grins.

"I guess so, what's with the ninth degree?" Astrid flushes, wiping a hand over her forehead.

"That's just…hot. Well, it's really insanely hot," he laughs to himself, breathing harder than normal from thinking about it. She pats the bed behind her, rocking up onto her side, doing her best to hide her shivering as she tries to get comfortable. He follows her and slides under the covers, grimacing when his half hard crotch presses up against her rear. She presses back into him, hollowing her back against his chest and sighing happily.

"You're trembling," she tells him, playing footsie with him near the foot of the bed.

"What did you do?" He asks, resting a hand on her waist and stroking lightly.

"What did I do when?"

"When you uh…" he starts, panting too hard and flushing.

"When I masturbated?" She affirms, and he makes a sound of quiet assent. She doesn't think she'll ever get tired of making him squirm. "I don't know. It was honestly really awkward at first."

"How was it awkward?"

"I've never tried it before!" She laughs uncomfortably, reaching back and grabbing his hand, pulling it tightly around her and trying to settle him down.

"So it was your first time, and you were thinking of _me_?" She nods. "Of all things, _me_?"

"That was the only thing that made it _not_ awkward," she admits, closing her eyes and getting comfortable. "I started pretending it was you and it felt good."

That's different.

The best possible kind of different.

He grins and presses his face against the back of her neck, kissing lightly and pulling her closer. His hand slides down her stomach, fingers testing the waters, brushing across the bony ridge of her hips. She bucks back into him and glares over her shoulder, flushing bright red.

"I'm not tired," he explains and she scoffs, rolling away from him while simultaneously tucking herself closer to his chest. His hand slides sideways across her hips, stroking the soft, taut skin as the room heats up impossibly.

"What?" She snaps, but it comes out higher and squeakier than she intended. Astrid coughs and squirms to get comfortable.

"I'm not doing anything," he defends, sliding his hand up slightly and resting his thumb in her navel, his palm stretching almost too far down. She bites her lip.

"I asked for a minute."

"Do you want me to stop?" He offers, tugging his hand away and feeling suddenly stupid, thinking he misread clues that he was sure were obvious. When someone says they thought of him while masturbating, it's sort of a definitional come on, isn't it?

"I don't know," she amends as soon as his warm hand leaves her skin, reaching under the covers and shoving it back against her stomach.

"Tell me when you do know," he offers, arching slightly away from her in an attempt to hide his apparently stubborn excitement as his thumb brushes against the underside of her breast.

Her heart races and she's sure he can feel it under his fingertips as she presses his palm against the gap in her ribcage, staring across the room and wishing they'd remembered to turn off the overhead light.

"We left the light on," she reminds him plainly and he sighs, pulling away from her and stretching for a switch she hadn't noticed above the headboard.

Astrid realizes she misses his warmth.

She made him feel good, won't he try to do the same?

Yes. Hiccup would. He would try and make it good for her.

"Do you want it off?" He assures and she nods, propping herself up on her elbows and staring at him with half-narrowed eyes, watching his milk-pale skin glide across barely visible ribs. He flicks off the light and slides back to lie next to her, laying a cautious arm over her stomach as she reluctantly lays back.

"We could just try it," she suggests and he looks at her, pupils unnaturally large in the near darkness.

"How sure are you?" He asks.

"Sure enough."

"How sure is sure enough?" He affirms one last time and she frowns at his sudden trepidation.

"Touch me."

00000

**Ok, secret time. That scene at the end? That came into my head, so I had to shift where the last chapter ended and create that awful cliffhanger out of nothing. **

**But hey, I hope this makes up for it? **

**And I'm sorry about this cliffhanger…I can say that the next update won't be as fast, but don't get mad, because I'm currently picking through a 7000 word chunk of lemony goodness with a fine toothed comb and making it perfect. **

**So give me my time, because lemons are hard…pun intended. **


	23. Chapter 23

**I'm so so so so so sorry that I haven't responded to reviews. School is whooping me in my butt. I'm going to try and get around to it, but it might be a bit, and I'm sorry for that. **

00000

"Touch me."

Hiccup gulps, tentative hand glancing across her side and resting against her stomach. He scoots back, looking carefully at her profile as she closes her eyes and exhales, faking calm. She fidgets, folding her hands too precisely over the sheets before wriggling sideways and resting her head on his bony bicep, more comforting than comfortable.

"I'm—"

"Just do something already," Astrid snaps, eyes squinting shut as she relaxes carefully.

"I don't know what to do…exactly," he thinks back to the disastrous _research_ session from a week ago and flushes.

"Just try something," she shrugs and he sighs.

"That's helpful."

"It did feel good when you touched here," she reaches under the covers and grabs his wrist, dragging his hand back to rest against the points of her hips.

"It did?"

"Stop asking me about everything. If it feels good, I'll tell you," she commands before sighing. "Sorry…I mean—Do you want to maybe take some control here?"

"Uhh yeah, sure," he smoothes his hand across her hips, and she bites her lip before leaning up and kissing him. It's less awkward and she sighs, relaxing as her hands wind around the back of his neck and pull him down towards her.

There's something oddly freeing about her latching onto him and his hand wanders down, smoothing a long languorous path down her thigh, hooking behind her knee and pulling her leg over his hip as he rolls halfway onto her. She wraps her heel tightly around his lower back and holds him to her, kissing almost too roughly and nipping at his lip, arching up into him.

His thumb slides inward, rubbing at the crease of her thigh as she concentrates on kissing him, anxious fingernails digging into the back of his neck. He slows down, pulling away slightly and kissing along her jaw, stopping to suck on her earlobe as she starts to relax, flopping against the pillow and moaning as his lips trace down the column of her neck. His hand smoothes up over the curve of her ass before coming to rest, fluttery and unsubstantial against her leg.

His hand is shaking and unmistakably gentle, foreign as she rubs her knees together, confused and exhilarated. He dodges what she assumes is his final destination and traces maddeningly down her inner thigh, coaxing her knees apart. His lips slow as his hand gravitates back up, brushing against her, and her whole body twitches. She pulls back from the kiss with a nervous grin and wraps an arm around his neck.

Her nerves have melted almost entirely and she glares up at him, suddenly wondering why he's not _touching_ her.

"Why'd you stop?" She kisses him before he can answer and gets more than a little lost as his hand sinks against her skin like warm butter.

"I wanted to do this right," he tells her, carefully touching his fingertips against the outer edge of her center. She blinks slowly, waiting for…something. "Is that…?"

"It's fine," she urges, letting her knee slip from his back and spreading her legs slightly. His fingers dip into her, rubbing against her inner wetness and she gasps at the almost intrusion. "Seriously, fine."

"Ok…" he mumbles, kissing the side of her neck to avoid looking at that utterly distracting face. He slides a long finger further down than he'd expected and slips it into her, biting his lip and trying to ignore the fact that his mind instantly replaces his finger with something else. "What about…?"

"It's fine," she repeats, trying to be irritable and failing as he kisses her pulse point too softly. "I mean, it doesn't feel like anything." She cocks her head to the side and sighs almost embarrassingly softly. "Keep kissing though."

"Whatever you say," he mumbles, and she can feel his smile against her shoulder as his hand retreats slightly, stroking at her inner thigh, shaky and cautious. His lips are slightly more confident, sliding across her collar bone and down her chest. He stops to nibble on the peak of her breast and she whimpers, hand curling against his back. "I know this might not be…_hot_," he mumbles against her skin, "but you're really," kiss, "insanely," kiss, "beautiful." She blushes as her hand falls to his hair, playing in the soft strands.

"That's pretty hot," she laughs, moaning as his hands touch her so gently, so delicately. "And I—I had no idea I'd see you today," she squeaks as his thumb swipes over her pebbled nipple.

"How would that have changed anything?" He frowns, propping his chin on her chest and looking up at her. She flushes and scowls.

"I mean, I'd look…better, I guess."

"How could you possibly look better?" He laughs, kissing along her shoulder and nipping at the side of her neck.

"I don't know, I have nicer underwear and—"

"Astrid, I could not care less," Hiccup cuts her off, cupping her chest and nibbling the plump rise, grinning at her quiet moan.

"They aren't—I mean," she frowns, half of her brain lost to the pleasure rippling to her core from his careful ministrations. She realizes that she cares what he thinks of how she looks, and that's somehow deeply terrifying.

"Hmm?" He hums against her, distracted as he nuzzles against the soft flesh.

"They aren't particularly big." Astrid blurts, squinting her eyes shut as he freezes against her.

"Is that why…a few weeks ago—" He lifts his head, looking her in the eyes.

"_Yes_, ok? I thought you weren't interested because you saw me…mostly naked, and you didn't see…much," she falters and shrugs, chewing almost savagely on the inside of her lip. His hand cups her cheek, thumb stroking in that earnest way that never fails to make her deeply uncomfortable. She flushes and avoids eye contact, staring through the shadows at the wall.

"You're beautiful," he repeats and she glances at him, those green eyes still oddly electric, even in the dark.

"It's just," she looks down at her breast, still in his hand and bites her lip. "I want you to…be happy with everything." The awkward words are confidence self-immolating and Astrid wishes she could sink into the mattress.

Hiccup kisses her cheek, his hand sliding back down to grip her free breast. He squeezes them comfortingly.

"These are fantastic, alright?" And then he nudges himself, conspicuously long and hard, against her hip. "Just…just feel that. That is pretty much exclusively because you're naked." She smiles grudgingly. "Well, a little bit is because I'm touching you, and that's pretty amazing, but it's mostly because you're naked."

"Continue," Astrid urges, swallowing embarrassment and tangling her fingers back in his hair.

"Seriously though," he runs his thumbs along the sensitive strip of flesh immediately under the rise of her chest. She shivers. "Absolutely, distractingly, fantastic."

"Ok, I get it," she laughs as his lips start tracing around her flesh again. "How about you keep trying?" She asks after a moment and he looks up at her, obviously distracted.

"Keep trying what?"

"You know, keep trying down…yeah," Astrid insists, nudging her thigh slightly impatiently against him.

"Ok, Miss Impatient," he jokes, touching her with gentle fingers and groaning to himself at the now absolutely abundant dampness. If her mouth felt good…"Do you want me to…go inside?" He asks and she shrugs, a little awkward and more nervous.

"Sure," she nods, feigning confidence. She'd expected to be afraid by now, but the awkward discomfort seems unbelievably normal. "I'll tell you if I don't like it, but I figured you'd be _exploring_," she shrugs and he laughs.

"Exploring?" His finger slips inside of her, long and narrow and strange but not at all unwelcome.

"Yes, exploring. I figured you'd want to—"

"Spelunk?" He flinches as her fist connects with his arm. "Ouch, that one's going to bruise."

"Don't—I'm not a cave, Hiccup," she fidgets, lips pursing at the strange intrusion as she tries to take stock of the peculiar feeling. "And this doesn't feel like much, keep…something else?" It's almost an instruction, but Hiccup would be lying if he said he didn't appreciate the hint.

"Like…ok," he thinks, slowly dragging his fingertip along that silken wall, swirling against the inside of her. "Hmm, are you—I'm going to try something," he pulls away from her and she's suddenly cold as he kneels next to her knee and slipping his finger out of her, taking the blanket with him.

"What are you trying?" She asks springing onto her elbows, wary and completely aware that her secret plans usually entail something he might not be completely comfortable with. They aren't as fun from the other end of the sword.

"It might be easier if I can see what I'm doing," he shrugs and she frowns.

"You shouldn't have turned off the light then."

"So critical," he looks at her seriously, and she trusts him implicitly.

"Ok, ok," she mumbles, laying back against the pillow and shaking out her shoulders, spreading her knees and closing her eyes. Hiccup gets to work, shifting down the bed and dipping slightly to peer at what he's touching. It's strange and pink and somehow alluring and he looks carefully at her face as he lets his finger slide back into her wet opening. She squirms and bites her lip as he carefully feels around her walls, searching for anything _different_.

He gives up after a too quiet minute and slowly pulls out, stopping when she groans quietly. Something feels slightly raised within her under his finger and he presses against it cautiously.

"Is that—"

"Different," she shifts, and he rubs against the strange spot, making her feel slightly too heavy.

"Good different?" He asks, rubbing his fingertip against the spot and smiling when she pushes back against him.

"Yeah…I mean, it's sort of…intense? That's not the right word but…" She gives up, blinking too slowly and enjoying the strange heaviness spreading through her core when he prods at that spot.

"Ok," he grins, pulling his finger out the rest of the way and avoiding eye contact as she springs onto her elbows and glares at him.

"I just told you that felt good, why'd you stop?"

"I'm still looking for something," he shrugs and she rolls her eyes.

"But that was something," she insists, trying not to look at the strangely arousing sight of his hand resting on her hip while his thumb smoothes too gently down her center. "Come on, I liked that—Oh, go back." She orders, looking at his curious face as his thumb slides back up and presses against the bump of her clit. "Yeah." She nods, biting her lip and spreading her knees a bit, her inhibitions surrendering further.

"Yeah?" He asks, pressing down with his thumb and grinning as she twitches. She nods and sits up, grabbing the back of his neck and kissing him soundly as his fingers replace his thumb, rubbing in a slow circle as she moans against his mouth. It's less awkward when they're kissing, and any trepidation is replaced by a slow eager pulsing in her lower stomach. "Is this…do you want me to do anything else?" He pulls away from her lips to ask and she falls backwards onto the bed, obviously even less reserved as her knees spread further and she arches up into his touch.

"Harder," she urges, and all the blood left in his head rushes south.

"I wonder if another angle would be better…" he says out loud, switching his fingers to rock side to side and grinding harder against her pubic bone. She yelps and moans, squinting her eyes shut and trying not to squirm.

"All the angles," she _whimpers_ and his slick thumb replaces his fingers on her clit as he rubs in an almost too quick circle. She writhes against his touch and he cautiously holds her down by the point of her hip, rocking his thumb back and forth across her and she cries out, arching off of the bed.

"Are you—"

"Don't stop," she groans, clutching at her own chest in a way that makes everything about Hiccup squirm as he rubs harder, driving her on and on and on. "Yeah, yeah, yeah…" her head rocks back and forth as her body contracts on some far off horizon.

"Is that enough?" He asks concerned as she positively keens, arching against his fingers and nodding furiously.

"Just…just—" And then there's no reason to talk as her body springs taut and she calls out too loudly, before falling slack against the bed, panting.

Hiccup sits back, eyes bugging out of his head as he breathes too hard, eyes locked on her barely glistening, heaving chest. She sighs after a moment, flopping spread eagle against the sheets and shaking slightly.

"Are you ok?" He asks and she groans low in her throat, stretching her arms over her head and tensing shivering muscles against the side of Hiccup's leg.

"I love you," she barely laughs through a raw throat, fumbling for his hand and yanking him to lie down next to her, surprisingly strong in spite of her trembling. Her head finds his shoulder as her arm lands across his taut waist and her leg curls over his hips. She fidgets, shivering when her ass rubs against his shaft. It twitches near violently at the contact and she laughs into his shoulder, hugging him impossibly closer.

He doesn't remember the last time he was _this_ worked up…and that's downright frightening considering what happened earlier tonight.

"Hi…" he mumbles as she clings to him, sweaty and happy and gripping his arms too tightly. "So I'm guessing that was ok," he mostly jokes, and she backhands his arm, propping herself up and looking down at his wide, still excited eyes.

"Yeah," she nods. "It was alright."

"Alright?" He grins and she shrugs, reaching back and almost shyly stroking at the side of his shaft. "Whoa there," he twitches away as her touch is too good.

"What?" She asks, sliding her leg down to cross his ankles and propping herself up on an elbow, fiddling with the hair on the nape of his neck as her hand moves back towards _him_.

"I mean…what are you doing?" He asks awkwardly, rubbing at the back of his neck.

"I—we're doing this," she says resolutely, wrapping her hand around him.

"Now?" He asks, nervous as she perches astride his thighs, kneeling and exhaling, wiping her hands across her red face.

"Yeah," she bites her lip and nods. "I want it right now."

"_Right_ now?" he squeaks as she reaches down and grabs his practically raging stiffness and positions it, thumb idly smoothing along his flesh and giving him chills. "Don't we need like…protection or something?"

"That's what you're asking right now?" She laughs nervously, stroking at him, fingers shaking.

"It's important, I mean if you were to get pregnant, wouldn't you be even more freaked out and—"

"I'm on the pill," she cuts him off. "And this is not…getting me in the mood."

"Er…sorry," he mumbles, running a hand up her thigh. "You're sure about this?" She squeezes him and nods.

"Yeah," she's breathing too hard, hand sliding up and down as she sits back slightly, preparing herself. It always hurts when it's been a while, she knows that.

She tries to focus on the positive, on the absolute closeness of holding him like this, but she can't help but compare him in her mind. She doesn't know if it's been too long, but he's suddenly intimidating and she steels herself.

She hums low in her throat and chews on her lip, pumping him slowly with her fist, staring too deeply into his eyes and smiling slightly as he struggles to keep them open.

"Are you absolutely sure?" He asks, quelling every primal urge he has to buck upwards. Her fingers slip down and play with his balls, rolling them slowly between her fingers.

This is going to be embarrassing, isn't it?

He breathes in deeply, squinting his eyes shut and trying to control the sensations.

"Astrid, if you're going to go, you should kind of think about hurrying—Aah."

She sits while he's distracted, and his eyes almost bug out of his head.

"I'm completely sure," she mumbles, shifting her hips and adjusting to the peculiar feeling. Hiccup's head flops back against the pillow and its violent deflation is the only sound in the room. She scoots forwards slightly, fully engulfing him as she tilts her hips. It stings and she frowns, breath catching in her throat at the shear immediacy of him. She wiggles back and forth, lips curling as he stretches her walls.

"Ok?" He asks after a moment and she shrugs, rocking forward slightly and biting her lip, toes curling determined.

Does it feel good?

Maybe.

She likes that she's doing this with Hiccup, she likes his focused face and wandering breathing. She likes the way that his fingers are resting on her knees, stroking absent-mindedly. She likes the way she can feel the very essence of him, all the way inside of her, claimed and too warm.

"Yeah, you?" She retorts and he shrugs, looking significantly perturbed as she engulfs him, so hot and wet and seductive. "You don't look ok."

"I'm great," he laughs quietly and she leans down, kissing him. It's not on purpose when his hips roll against hers and she groans excited into his mouth, surprised clenching fingernails digging into his side. "Ow ow, are you ok?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm…I'm alright," she smiles, hands on his shoulders as she shifts, biting her lip. "It's...that felt good for a second."

"Really? What felt good?" He asks, too focused to really smile, glancing down at his side to see if he's bleeding. She holds a finger towards him, other hand on his shoulder.

"Just…a…second," Her eyes squint shut and she pants against his face as she mimics the motion, rocking forward.

"What?" He resists the nearly impossible urge to buck up into her.

"That's…" she gasps, pushing herself up with a palm flat on his chest and grinding forward, moaning almost surprised. "That's…"

"Alright?" He asks, something about that almost delicate moan inspiring him into action. He sits halfway and kisses her cleavage, sliding to the side and sucking gently on a rosy nipple. She cries out and grinds forward harder, biting her lip and nesting her hands in his hair. His hips twitch under hers, trying to keep up with her, unreasonably proud of the noises she's making. He nibbles along the side of her neck, focusing on anything but his own pleasure.

It's hard enough to contain himself as is, with that unbelievably wet, hot tunnel gripping him so so tightly, sliding along his length. He grits his teeth and lays back, squinting his eyes shut as his hands clamp down onto her waist.

Astrid finally understands.

She finally understands what Ruff goes on about, and the flirtatious foreshadowing of the roiling warmth in the pit of her stomach when he touches her. This is impossible and wonderful and she's so utterly close to him that she can feel her heartbeat speeding to match his as he twitches inside of her.

"Hiccup," she moans his name and it's lightning down to his loins as he starts to quickly lose control.

"J-just a second?" Hiccup nearly begs, legs spasming as he does his best to hold back, sliding and grabbing her hips, attempting to slow her down. She doesn't listen, somehow liking him holding onto her as she grinds faster.

Suddenly he tenses impossibly underneath her, almost vibrating as he finishes, his lips pulling back from his teeth in a near grimace.

She halts, feeling almost apologetic as his whole body shakes. She throbs around what's left of him, somehow disappointed in spite of how fantastic that was while it lasted. She doesn't remember them getting so sweaty and she runs a curious finger down his damp stomach.

She wants to keep going. That is suddenly abundantly clear and she shifts forward, disappointed at the lack of him.

Her knees shake more than she expected when they unfold and she flops onto the bed beside where he's still breathing hard. She rests her head on his shoulder and wraps her arm around his chest, hair itching where it sticks to the sweaty back of her neck.

"Ok then," Astrid sighs, still trembling.

"I'm sorry," he comforts awkwardly, pleasurable rush of what just happened fading in the nervous aftermath. "That was—"

"It was fine," she admits and his face falls. "Ok, more than fine," she kisses across his chest. "Way way way more than fine."

"You didn't," he gestures strangely and she rubs her knees together, understanding far too well as she throbs eagerly between her legs.

"Care to help me with that?" She asks rakishly, looking up at him through lidded eyes. "Plus, I had plenty of fun," she laughs, leaning up and nipping at his earlobe as her leg finds its way over his thighs. There, that's better. His thigh presses against her in an almost satisfying way and that new ache fades. "Not finishing with you was far better than finishing by myself." She admits, nudging casually against his hip and kissing the side of his neck.

She didn't know that she had this inside of her, this openness. This clinginess.

She can't say she hates it.

"And that's so hot," he groans, covering his eyes with his arm as it starts to sink in. He's not a virgin anymore. He just had sex with Astrid Hofferson. ''Holy shit."

"You know what would be hotter?" she laughs low in her throat, voice gravelly.

"Are you trying to make my head explode?" He asks and she shrugs.

"It's not too late for me to _finish_," she grins and he blushes as she kisses his shoulder, her hips rocking subconsciously against his leg.

"You're actually enjoying this, aren't you?" He asks disbelievingly, grinning. His hand slides down her back and finds the curve of her butt and she gropes his chest, kissing his shoulder.

She smacks him in the sternum.

"Of course," she frowns, "I thought that was the point."

"I didn't really…last," he mumbles, self-conscious and she rolls her eyes.

"Obviously I would have liked to continue—" she stops, frowning. "I can't believe I just said that," she mumbles, feeling foreign and absolutely herself, all at once. "But I'm assuming you'll be up for another round," she gropes at him, determined as her fingers slip pointedly over the still damp flesh.

"In a minute," he laughs, gently plucking her hand off of him and exhaling pointedly. She looks almost hurt and he kisses her, getting a little more than distracted as his hand smoothes over her shoulder and down her muscular back. Her hand crawls back down his stomach, voraciously curious, and he twitches away. "It's sensitive right now."

"That _sounds_ like a good thing," he pulls her close, shielding himself with her leg by pulling it across his hip. He bites his lip, this already feels dangerously good, and the lingering grogginess fades. They both inhale, and he nuzzles fondly against her cheek.

"Give it a minute," he urges and she pouts, kissing him and nipping at his lower lip, oddly comfortable. "And I've already gone twice, I might be done," he tells her gently and she frowns.

"You're 18," she hedges hopefully.

"And those were both…big, Astrid," he tells her and she flushes, leaning in to kiss him.

She should be scared and worried, so damp and raw and _exposed_ in front of him. But she's _safe_.

This warm, solitary happiness is so utterly protected that she can feel the long time tightened bodice of reality loosening.

And the way he's kissing her is…flawless. Slow and long and absorbing.

She can feel his too long eyelashes fluttering against her face and his hands feel like liquid lightning, drifting up and down her shoulders, ghosting along the tender skin on the side of her chest.

Everything would be wonderful if it weren't for her aching hands. She can feel the stark line of the still red scar left over from teaching Tuff a lesson, pressing against the steamy air like a brand. Hiccup pulls back and she tries to follow him, utterly disappointed when their mouths disconnect with a pop.

"Ow, are you ok?" He asks, concerned even as he frowns and squirms towards her.

"Ow?" She rocks against him in spite of herself, biting her lip.

"You're kind of digging in here," he grimaces and she realizes her claw bent hands digging into his shoulder. She pulls her arms back and the _mysterious_ ache disappears.

Oh. That makes sense.

"I'm sorry," her hands slide back around, grabbing at his ass. She grinds forward against him suggestively and almost _whines_. "So are you sure you won't be up for another round?"

"Are you ok?" He asks, utterly sure that he's never heard that tone come out of her mouth before.

"I'm fine," she scowls, ducking her head and biting his neck almost savagely, sucking a wine colored hickey while he squirms. She whimpers at the low groan that rumbles from his throat, tugging his thigh between her legs with a foot hooked behind his bad knee and grinding soothingly.

Hiccup slides his palm down her side, letting his fingers slip between her thighs and search for her clit. She lurches away and glares at him, angrier than she should be.

"Astrid—"

"No, I want to go again," she insists, grinding forward against his thigh and nodding emphatically.

"Astrid, come on," he mumbles, sliding his hand against her again and rubbing at her clit with his thumb before she can push him away. She shoves at his shoulders, but it's significantly less violent than her normal strength. "We can go again in the morning," he offers, nudging his hips against her and rubbing convincingly at her core. "Just let me—"

"I think I almost finished before," she admits, running a hand up his back with fond fingers. "I just want to try again," she complains through his completely seductive motion that has her rocking against his hand.

"And we will," he sighs, "but it's not...if it were going to get interested, it would_ definitely _be interested by now," he looks down at her appraisingly and she flushes.

"I didn't think I'd want to go again so much," she admits, hooking her leg behind his and tugging him closer. He grins and in a moment of confidence, slips two long fingers inside of her, keeping his thumb pressing on her clit.

"Will this work?" He asks and she bites her lip, grinding down against his fingers and nodding. She's a little sore, but in a raw and overwhelmingly real way that makes her whole body throb around his fingers.

"It's a decent second," she shrugs, and he blushes, rubbing her inside and outside simultaneously as she clings to his shoulders. "Put another finger in?" She asks, letting her eyes fall shut as she starts back climbing to that pleasurable place. He wiggles his ring finger into that still somehow impossibly tight channel and her hands stiffen on his shoulders. "Yeah, that'll work," she moans, pressing her face against his neck as his hand speeds up slightly, pumping slickly in and out of her while his thumb glances sweetly across her clit.

Astrid whimpers almost frantically, rocking against his fingers and spasming suddenly as everything he's doing is enough. She cries out some almost version of Hiccup's name and tenses before relaxing against him, curling into his embrace. He tugs the blanket up over them and hugs her probably too tightly, kissing the top of her head.

She said _his_ name.

Astrid yawns against his chest, wrapping an arm and a leg around him as she struggles to get comfortable around what feels like too many elbows for only two people.

"Goodnight," Hiccup mumbles against the top of her head.

"This is not comfortable," she groans, pushing away nearly anti-romantically and turning over before backing up into him, his bony chest against her back. She melts into the warmth, utterly content as her blinks get longer and longer.

"Goodnight," she mumbles.

"Love you too," he responds, wrapping himself around her.

There's something falsely innocent about the overwhelmingly closeness when he settles in, spooning behind her with one arm under her neck and the other over her bare hip.

00000

**H'okay. So, I do have some matters to attend to here. **

**I'm sure that you guys noticed this isn't that full 7000 word chunk. The second half is still under heavy construction, and the first half…well, I really liked it, and I wanted to quench that cliffy and buy myself some time. **

**And I have a question to ask you all. I'm in this position where I'm quibbling over how much smut I should put in this. So, how much smut? I have the rest of what was this chapter, and obviously that's smut. **

**And then I'm working on two epilogues, and both of them contain smut…so conceivably chapters 22, 23, 24, 25 and 26 are smutty. Do you guys want that? Because it's in the works, but I seriously don't want to scare you all off with pure smut…but at the same time, I put everyone through hell reading this, and I want to finish it on a high note. **

**Anyway, I would really really love it if you guys could clue me in as to how much smut is the right amount of smut. **

**Have I said smut enough times? Because I'm not really sure…**

**And I promise I'll get on those reviews in the next couple of days. Thank you! **


	24. Chapter 24

**So first, I'm sorry again for lack of review responses. I'll get on it, I promise. **

**But school man. School. **

**Second, Public Service Announcement! There will be smut in all following chapters, but the last chapter is the only all smut thing. **

**I guess I sort of made it sound like I'd be locking them in a closet and making them bang for four chapters or something, but that's not it at all. After this chapter, we're going to have two time jumps, sort of like at the end of chasing, where I hope to show little windows into their comfortably advanced relationship. **

**This does involve sex, because I want to show how that advances, and how that changes as time goes on. I promise it's not gratuitous sex. I'm just attempting to honestly relay all parts of this relationship, and it just so happens that sex is a big one! **

00000

Hiccup wakes up first, groggy and confusingly sore as he stares at a foreign picture on the wall, trying to remember where he is. Astrid's hair tickles his chin and he brushes it away, letting his fingers linger against her scalp.

Right.

Scotland.

He's in Scotland with Astrid, and they had sex last night. After talking for hours, and not breaking up with her. He grins, looking down and taking in the not at all unpleasant sight of a still very naked Astrid haphazardly across him, half uncovered and snoring lightly into his shoulder.

She's out, and he guesses it isn't surprising, given her race yesterday and all that necessary crying. He shifts to wrap his arms around her and grimaces as his fingers that were _active_ the night before prove to be rather crusty. After wiping them on the sheet as thoroughly as he can, he cautiously wraps his arms around her, the one under her head gripping her shoulder with gentle fingers as his other softly strokes her lower back. She mumbles in her sleep and hugs herself closer, _snuggling_ into the side of his neck.

"You're nicer when you're sleeping," he mumbles against her head, letting his hand stroke up her back, drawing a circle between her shoulder blades before sliding back down. She sighs and mumbles unintelligibly. Her legs stretch downwards, toes pointing before one stretches across his waist and clamps down, holding him so tight it almost hurts. She grumbles low in her throat and her hand clenches against his shoulder.

He nuzzles against the side of her head and she curls into him, obviously trying to stay in her warm dream a few more moments.

"Aaaaastrid," Hiccup sing-songs against her temple and she grumbles, pushing up clumsily onto her elbow and giving him a half-asleep stink-eye.

"What?" She asks before flopping back down against him, stiff and ungainly in the early morning light. Her legs are killing her, and it's almost enough to distract her from the lingering sticky soreness between her legs. Hiccup is comfortable though, if she ignores his ribs against hers and focuses on the lean strong arms around her back. His palm rubs a smooth path along her spine and she melts further into him, fidgeting to get comfortable.

"Good morning to you too," he snarks at her tone and she rolls her eyes, acutely aware of her lips against the skin of his shoulder. She kisses him on impulse and his skin heats with a blush.

"Good morning," she amends, pushing back onto her elbow and _stretching_, blushing when his eyes fall automatically to her chest. "How did you sleep?" She asks, settling back onto him, propping her chin on a hand planted against his chest.

"Alright," he shrugs. "I think this is the first time I've actually woken up before you," he laughs and she groans, hugging herself closer and tightening that long, lean leg over his hip.

"Lots of firsts…" they blush and she looks away, tucking her head against his shoulder. "And why'd you wake me up again?" She grumbles against his skin, idly playing with the wispy hair at the nape of his neck.

"Oh, so I'm just supposed to lay here and be your furniture?" He asks jokingly, pulling his hand off of her lower back and miming an open fist. "Do you need a cupholder?"

"No, put your hand back, that felt nice," she urges grumpily, sighing as his fingers resume stroking below her ribcage. "A little to the right? It's really tight." Hiccup obediently adjusts the motion and Astrid whimpers, arching into the touch.

"So now I'm just a massage chair to you?" He laughs, too fond as her legs tangle with his and she hooks her hand around the back of his neck.

"Massage _bed_, Hiccup."

"I see, you led me to believe that you'd be _jumping_ me first thing in the morning so I'd wake up to rub your back," he snarks and she snickers against the side of his neck, miraculously unoffended.

"You caught me," and the quiet mumble is laced with utter contentment.

But honestly, all of the _jumping _talk is making her hyperaware of the sort of sore and very warm center between her legs. She nudges him with her hips, holding his thigh fast against her and sighing happily.

Definitely sticky, she grimaces slightly at the peculiar wetness, wiggling against him and getting comfortable.

If he notices what she's pressing so tightly to him, he doesn't let on. After everything the day before, it's amazing how comfortable she is with the situation. Before now…

Sleeping naked has always been something downright stupid, but sleeping naked with an equally underdressed Hiccup is more pleasant than she could have imagined, and that stark line cuts across her mind as a searing border between the then and now. His fingers dig into a particularly sore knot in her lower back and she moans low in her throat, her leg going slightly boneless as she pulls him closer with the arm looped around his neck. She wants Hiccup in her bed, rubbing her back after every race. This is amazing.

Astrid used to hate it when Scott would feign interest in snuggling, then use the proximity to jab her with his erection until she did something about it. Always out of annoyance, after that too brief curiosity phase.

Hiccup is distractingly firm and resting against the back of her thigh, and it feels like someone is cranking the thermostat. Her fingers untangle from his hair and she reaches behind her leg to grab it, pressing its length against her and thumbing at the smooth, warm lip.

"Hi there," he almost yelps, muscles tensing so far it seems downright unhealthy. She pokes him in the side with the hand not tracing that throbbing vein on the underside of him.

"Relax, you're a horrible pillow when you're this tense." She kisses along his collarbone and he exhales shakily.

"What're you doing down there?"

"I don't know," she shrugs, giving up on cuddling as his entire chest twitches in synchrony with her dancing fingers. "You're really sensitive." It takes two stiff and sore tries, but she rocks upwards to kneel over him, hands sliding up to his shoulders as she kisses him. His hands grip at the back of her thighs and her quads scream as she leans into the touch.

"Ok?" He asks, easing his grip.

"Mhm," her nose brushes downright affectionately against his and it feels like his heart could burst. "Just sore from my race." Her hand slides down his chest, positioning him against her and she attempts to sink down onto him before the burn in her legs stops her. "Really sore," the warmth pulses, more than a little disappointed as she lets him go and he comes to rest against her lower stomach. "We might not…" she trails off, thinking somewhat dangerously and biting her lip. Does she trust him? Absolutely. "I'm thinking you on top."

She's afraid it might destroy that controlling safety, but she wants to trust him. She really really wants to trust him, just as much as she wanted to forgive him yesterday.

Maybe sometimes wanting things can be enough.

If she wants this and works at it the way she does everything else, maybe it can just be _good_. Permanently.

"Are you sure?" The concern is as comforting as it is annoying.

"If I weren't sure, I wouldn't have asked," she snaps, but it's fragile and happy. "You don't need to ask if I'm ok every five seconds."

"Ok, ok…but one more question," she glares at him, deflating slightly.

"What?"

"Right now?" He asks as she flops back to the bed, accidently elbowing him in the side.

"What do you think I was just doing?" The warmth nags.

"I don't know," he flushes. "I was distracted." His gaze floats down to her chest and she rolls her eyes, flattered.

"Come on," she urges, spreading her knees and nudging at his hips. It's more exciting than last night, the fear further faded. She remembers how good it felt, having him inside of her, hot and hard and so utterly _claimed_, moving in time with him, holding him close. "Seriously, hurry."

"I'm hurrying" He rolls halfway on top of her, his bad knee between hers. "No umm…warm up or anything?"

"You don't look like you need a warm-up." They both glance down at the obviously gung-ho part of his anatomy.

"But do you?" She blushes at the offer, and the feeling of absolute _rightness_ mounts.

"I don't know," she shrugs, feeling naïve as she looks down at the heated space between them. "I feel pretty _warm_, but I won't stop you—" She squeaks as his hand lands against her, fumbling briefly before rubbing at her clit.

"You're pretty wet," he mumbles almost clinically, and it feels far too good to be truly embarrassing. Astrid moans almost impatiently and rocks against his thumb, and urgent hand on his back curling into a claw. "I think some of it is umm…left over from last night," he tells her awkwardly. She's not really listening. "But I think you're good—"

"I already said…come on," she certainly doesn't enjoy the desperation in her voice, but it seems to convince Hiccup. He shifts onto an elbow, hovering over her and stroking his shaft with his free hand, earnest as he balances on his knees, lining himself up.

The first try is a no-go and he slips to the side, sliding against the damp crease of her inner thigh. Astrid grunts impatiently and scoots up, planting her feet on the bed and hugging his hips with her knees.

"Sorry…"

"A little lower," she chews on the inside of her lip, trying to be understanding, her hands rubbing at his shoulders as he gets the tip in and plants his other elbow outside her shoulder. They groan in unison as he shifts his hips, sliding the rest of the way together.

"Ok?" He checks, already panting as he tries to get used to the velvety sheath clenching around him. Instincts he hadn't felt entirely the day before kick in and it takes an inordinate amount of focus not to drive into her. God, he wants to _go_.

"Fine," she shifts to get comfortable, short of breath as he fills her entirely, pressing against everything inside of her. "Go ahead," her arm hooks over the back of his neck, pulling him down to her level and kissing him.

He starts to move, rocking slowly and blissfully inside of her and she wraps her other arm around his back, pressing back into his thrusts as her breath shortens in her chest. Almost great, almost enough. He tucks his forehead against her shoulder and tries to settle on a rhythm even as his nerve endings dissolve to molten metal.

"You feel too good," he laughs a bit desperately, pausing to shift his elbows and taking a deep breath.

"Too good?" She asks, moaning quietly as he resumes, rocking in and in and _in_. Tender enough to be absolutely maddening.

"It's…" he groans, chewing almost cutely on his lip. "I'm going to be done way _way_ too soon," and just because she can, Astrid slides her hands down and grabs his ass. He jolts forward into her and she yelps as he bottoms out, pressing as deep as possible against her. "Even sooner if you're doing that."

"Do that again," she orders, ankle hooking over his thighs. Somehow, the deep stretch in her sore thigh muscles only adds to the pleasure and she arches underneath him, stretching both her legs with a quiet moan.

"Do what?"

"This," she squeezes his butt and he twitches forward again and a breathless moan escapes his lips. Astrid nods frantically. "Yeah, harder like that." She can feel the doubt in the stillness of his hips, and she bucks into him. "Just—" He cuts her off, snapping his hips into her and she groans, eyes slipping shut. "Yeah yeah, like that."

"Oook…" He groans, squinting his eyes shut and falling into a rhythm, slow but just forceful enough. "That's too good."

"Don't stop," her fingers grip tenderly at his shoulder blade and her head tips back against the pillow. He ducks down, latching onto the side of her neck and sucking on the soft skin, nipping across her shoulder. It's easier when he's not focusing on the tight throbbing around him, gripping and releasing him in turn, silky and welcoming.

She absolutely keens, arching up against him as he kisses down, taking a minute to suck on a nipple. Astrid yanks his head back up by a handful of hair, kissing him hard and wrapping both arms around his neck.

It's building again, somewhere deep inside of her, inching towards that peak every time he drags over those deep, most intimate parts of her. She nips at his lip, kissing technique deteriorating as her hands start to shake, threading through that soft hair.

"I-I…How close are you?" He asks, stopping momentarily and resting his forehead against her shoulder, kissing the damp skin.

"You're on the right track," she gasps, nuzzling against the side of his head and urging him onwards with her hips. He groans.

"I'm ahead of you," he admits, chewing on his lip and trying to calm himself. She runs her fingers down his back and his skin shivers under her touch. "What do you need?"

"I don't…come on, keep going," she grunts, frustrated and arching against him. "You can just help me out after."

"I want you to…" he nudges against her and she wraps her ankle more tightly over his leg. "Here, what if…" his hand is clumsy against her clit and he starts moving again, teetering on his elbow.

"Wait, that'll mess you up." She reaches down and shoves his hand away, rubbing herself and nodding. "Ok, keep going."

It's even worse, knowing that she's touching herself, and he shuts his eyes, pushing deeper and deeper into her as she starts to lose control beneath him. He can feel her hand, knuckles churning against him, glancing across his shaft as she drives herself closer to that precipice.

"Astrid," he groans, grabbing her hip with one hand and pulling her against him, giving in and driving into her with the rest of that carefully cultivated reserve.

"Oh God, yeah, like that," she encourages him, rubbing harder and harder and harder until the world condenses on that single bright point of pleasure. She twitches so unbelievably hard around him, so tight and hot, gripping him smoothly. Four thrusts later, Hiccup follows, wheezing and pulsing inside of her, suddenly bigger and longer. His knees collapse and he flops on top of her, ribs clashing with ribs as she hugs him closer.

He grunts, head thunking against her shoulder.

"That was…"

"Yeah," Astrid agrees, trying to shove him off of her and laughing as her arms fail, jelly-jointed and too warm. "And I love you, but you're sort of making it hard to breathe here." He rolls to the side and she curls against him, resting her head on his sweaty shoulder.

"That was really…" he tries again, gesturing at the ceiling.

"Absolutely," she mumbles. "That was even better than last night."

"I thought you liked my small ego," he laughs, sliding his arm under her head and stretching out further, toes stretching towards the foot of the bed.

It's not exactly clear where the sheets ended up.

"Have all the ego you want if it makes _that_ happen," she strokes lazy fingers across his stomach and dipping into his navel.

"You're creating a monster." She shorts, adjusting her head on his shoulder and settling in.

"Be quiet, Hiccup."

00000

Getting dressed is more awkward than it probably should be. There's something very different about standing naked in front of somebody, contorting sore muscles into wrinkled clothes. Not to mention Astrid's squeak when she realizes that his _cargo_ doesn't exactly stay where he put it, and it started dripping down her leg.

Hiccup blushingly stumbled to the bathroom on a half fastened prosthetic, bringing her a damp washcloth and apologizing somewhere close to fifty times.

Condoms are probably worth the hassle just to ensure she doesn't have to listen to that apology spiel again…or leak.

The walk back to Astrid's hotel feels longer without endless issues to work through, worrying about Hiccup skidding over the frost slick cobblestones. Astrid can't help but feel horribly conspicuous, her indefatigable bedhead in a haphazard ponytail, wearing a shirt borrowed from Hiccup under her fleece. He can't help but smile every time he catches sight of her out of the corner of his eye.

"What?" She asks, scowling around her grin.

"Nothing," he shrugs.

"You keep looking at me."

"Well, you're pretty," he tells her like it's the most obvious thing in the world and she nudges an elbow against his side.

"And you keep smiling like a dork," she blushes and stares down at their feet, and their joined hands swinging between them.

"Yeah, because you're pretty."

"I _know_, you just said that," she rolls her eyes, cheeks hurting with the effort not to smile. "You too."

"Oh, I'm pretty?" He laughs. "You really know how to make me feel manly there, Astrid."

"You didn't seem to be having problems with manliness this morning," she jokes, nudging her shoulder against his and catching his weight as his metal foot slips a bit over the wet ground.

"There came a point when I just couldn't contain this much raw—"

"Is that tall, pale, and geeky?" An unknown, high-pitched voice squeals from the sidelines and Hiccup startles as a tiny girl runs out of a nearby restaurant, punching Astrid in the arm. "You didn't tell us he was coming! We want to meet him!"

"Josie, I didn't know—" Astrid rubs her bicep and it's the sweetest form of revenge. Hiccup is too busy chortling at her astonished and irritated expression to notice the girl _bounding_ to stand in front of him, crossing her arms.

"Let me guess, you didn't bring the wolf?"

"Er…no…"

"Quarantine laws are a _bitch_," the girl stomps a tiny foot and shakes her head, turning back to Astrid. "And you two have to come with me, everyone's having breakfast inside."

"Everyone?" Astrid asks, looking almost scared as she stands up straighter, "coaches?"

"Ha, no. But I don't think you're in trouble, your coach spent all night with my coach watching some soccer game at the bar, so I don't think he was too worried," Josie shrugs, glancing over her shoulder back at the restaurant. "Come on, you aren't getting away."

"Do you mind?" Astrid turns to Hiccup, thumb stroking across his knuckles.

Honestly, he wants to get back to Astrid's hotel room and _help_ her change clothes before Gobber sees her in the most obvious walk of shame getup he's ever seen. The man would be patting him on the back for eternity, alternated with all sorts of threats about messing with Astrid's head…and it's going to be bad enough when his dad figures out without Gobber embellishing the story.

"Sure," he gives into the hopeful blue eyes, and she smiles and the impending embarrassment is wholly worth it. "Exactly how badly am I about to be interrogated?" He asks Josie and she grins, barking out an anything but ladylike laugh.

"You are funny."

"Erm, thank you?" He looks at Astrid curiously and she shrugs, tucking her free hand into her pocket, tugging him gently towards the restaurant. Josie jogs inside ahead of them and Hiccup turns to look at her, obviously nervous. Not even nervous, oddly eager to please. The expression reminds her of him last night, looking at her earnestly while he tried to bring her closer and closer and—"Mph!" Hiccup grunts as she suddenly rocks onto tip toe, kissing him hard, hand holding his chin almost sternly.

"It'll be fine," she encourages him, swallowing a surely goofy smile and pulling him forward. "And do we really want to race to see Gobber?"

"This is true," he nods, torn between delaying the inevitable and hurrying to lessen the effect. Like nearly always, Astrid's current frame of mind wins, and he's absolutely alright with it. "I'm starving anyway, I worked up an appetite," he elbows her gently and she glares up at him.

"I've ruined you."

They laugh because it's too beautiful of a morning not to be laughing.

Once inside the restaurant, they sit at two seats shoved up against the end of a slightly too small table, hands intertwined on his knee beneath the table cloth. All the girls stare fixedly at them, and Astrid can literally feel Hiccup's blush in his fingertips.

"So, Astrid, you disappeared last night," Josie pipes.

"Yeah, and I ran into Henry—"

"Who doesn't have his wolf with him."

"And…yeah," Astrid finishes lamely, scratching at her hairline. Sarah whispers something in Rachel's ear at the other end of the table and both girls laugh. Jenny smiles, more teenaged than sage and Astrid's blush rises into her ears.

"Henry, are you from Colorado too?" Erin starts a normal conversation with a normal question, and Astrid has never been so relieved.

"Yeah, we go to school together," he sets their connected hands on the table, and everyone smiles in almost creepy unison. Astrid feels the closest to shy that she can remember.

"And you're both seniors?" Erin continues and Hiccup opens his mouth to answer before he's cut off by Astrid's phone ringing in her pocket. She pulls it out and frowns, grudgingly letting go of Hiccup's hand for the first time since leaving his hotel room.

"It's Ruff, I should probably see what she wants," Astrid stands and he nods, looking at her almost frightened. She rolls her eyes and pats him on the shoulder, lingering a little too long and letting him know he'll be absolutely fine before striding towards the restaurant exit, pressing her phone to her ear. "Hello?"

"Astrid, how many kilts have you looked up?" Ruff asks, from the other end of the line, voice gravelly and oddly sounding like home.

"As many as I wanted to," she laughs, leaning against the ancient brick of the outside of the restaurant, letting her head rest back against the cold wall.

"That's my girl!"

"Zero, Ruff," Astrid laughs, toeing at the ground. "I got seventh, did you hear?"

"Hell yeah, I heard," and there's something about the pride of someone equally competitive. "So…is everything else ok?" The girl's voice drops seriously and Astrid shrugs.

"It's…it's really alright," her smile leaks through the transatlantic wires and Ruff sighs.

"I don't want to burst your bubble here—"

"Then don't," Astrid snaps, her stomach sinking. "Ok, do. What could possibly burst my bubble?"

"Hiccup wanted to break up with you," Ruff sighs, and Astrid can hear her flinching back from the phone, dead space gurgling into the receiver.

Astrid laughs.

"He's an idiot."

"You love him, you have to tell him—"

"It's all taken care of, Ruff, really," Astrid nods curtly against the wall, hair snagging in the nooks of the bricks. "He—the crazy man flew over here and I ran into him and—we're good now, really really good."

"Oh, yeah," Ruff starts, obviously fired up about something. Astrid checks her watch and frowns, it's 2:30 in Denver, the other girl is obviously in that nighttime honesty bubble. "And that idiot told me something. You told me you'd tell him before you left, but you didn't."

"He knows, Ruff," Astrid sighs, filing a short point on her fingernail against the brick.

"Well, I didn't tell him—"

"I told him, alright?"

"You did?" And Ruff's breath is static-y through the phone line. "How—How did that go?"

"It went fine…I was being stupid to be so freaked out about it," she admits, voice quiet. Ruff absorbs the weakness almost as well as Hiccup, and Astrid realizes that she has a legitimate friend here. Somewhere along the way, Ruff went from the only girl she had mutual tolerance with to an actual, honest-to-god _friend_. "He…he didn't freak out," Astrid laughs a little winded as the last twenty four hours flash through her mind, from her race to Hiccup's violent eyes flashing in the dark. "I probably shouldn't let you two get together anytime soon, I don't trust either of you not to go on a murdering spree."

"Oh fuck yeah, I'll dust off my dad's chainsaw!" Ruff exalts on the other end of the line and Astrid rolls her eyes.

"No, ok?" Her voice is quieter than she'd like it to be. "He's…I'm done rocking the boat for a while."

"Right, now you're into rocking the bed," and Astrid can hear the lewd wink. "Except Hiccup probably spent the night looking deeply into your eyes while you _cuddled_ fully clothed," Ruff mocks and Astrid feels the flush rise over her cheeks.

She can still feel Hiccup's hands on her, all over her.

"Not quite…"

"Oh, you were probably _snoring_—"

"The fully clothed part," Astrid blurts, biting her lip as she's suddenly _excited_ for the response. She wants to talk about this, wants to share what happened somehow, officially join that club of satisfaction and unhindered bawdiness.

Maybe not unhindered…that insane surge of jealousy rises back in her throat as she vows to keep some parts of Hiccup tremendously private.

"You two…really?" Ruff asks, guffawing on the other end of the line. "Damn, you move fast. Did you two fully bang, or was it just a topless sort of thing?"

"Why do you want to know?" Astrid snaps, blushing.

"Because I'm actually putting this in my diary."

"That's not going to make me tell you," she reminds her friend.

"I don't actually have a diary," Ruff admits and Astrid chews on the inside of her lip. She wonders if Hiccup is doing alright, but he has handled Ruff alright for the last few months…and hopefully Erin can keep the conversation relatively _normal_. Then again, Hiccup isn't normal.

He's probably talking about black holes, or grain-free dog food…or the melting point of carbonized steel…

She needs to get back in there.

"We did it, alright? Twice. And other stuff, and it was good," she blurts, grinning so wide it hurts her cheeks. "Good. Really good."

"Really good?" Ruff laughs and Astrid shrugs.

"Eh, second time better than the first," she hedges before smiling again. "But even the first time was…nice," she decides after a moment's deliberation. "Really really nice."

"Ugh, look at you. You're all sappy," but it's obvious that Ruff is happy, her voice comparatively quiet and almost soft.

"I'm not sappy," Astrid insists, crossing her free arm over her chest. "And I'll talk to you later, but I've sort of got to go…Hiccup is inside alone with my entire team."

"Jealous already?" Ruff laughs.

"More like worried," her voice drops and she looks both directions. "I mean, he's seen me _cry_, what if he runs out of normal things to talk about and starts telling everyone about that."

"He's also seen you naked."

"So?"

"One out of every ten girls is a lesbian," Ruff instructs and Astrid rolls her eyes.

"Ugh, I do have to get home, you sound like Fishlegs."

"Whatever Hofferson, at least…aww hell, go have fun with your naked boyfriend, I'll insult you when you get home."

"You just didn't have a comeback," Astrid shakes her head. "Lazy."

"Yeah, yeah, it's ass crack o'clock in the morning here, let me go to sleep."

"Talk to you soon, Ruff," the other girl grunts in response and Astrid hangs up the phone, pushing up off of the wall and starting to walk back inside. Jenny is standing in the entry way of the restaurant, looking slightly nervous and more human than Astrid would have expected of a sixth place world finisher.

Then again, if someone asked her yesterday morning if she thought a seventh place world finisher would cry so much in twenty four hours, she would have called bull shit.

"Astrid, how are you today?" The girl asks stiffly, smile warm on her face.

"Why does everyone keep asking me that?" Astrid almost snaps at the question before pushing her crazy hair back from her face and backing up a careful step. "Sorry…I just—Do I look like I'm not ok or something?"

"Your hair is a mess," Jenny points out, looking down at Astrid. "And that is a man's shirt."

"Thanks for pointing that out."

"You did not know?" She asks, cocking her head, the motion oddly expressive in those deep brown eyes.

"Sorry…sarcasm…never mind," Astrid shrugs and deflates. "Yeah, it's Henry's."

"You look better than you did," Jenny comforts and the blonde girl nods slowly.

"Probably because of Henry," Astrid admits quietly, and the small smile on her face is impossibly genuine. "He's…he's one of those people that make things better, you know? But he doesn't make you feel weak for needing a little _better_."

"I am glad he is here," Jenny nods. "But I think you made it better."

"Thanks, but I'm giving him the credit on this one."

"All sorts of people tried to make me talk about things when I first moved here," the dark skinned girl offers, shrugging an impossibly narrow shoulder. "The only one who could was me. I am glad you found the right person to talk to."

"When he lets me get a word in edgewise," Astrid grins and the other girl laughs, leaning in conspiratorially.

"And he is _hot_ too, that is all everyone is talking about," Jenny offers and Astrid sighs.

"I'm sure he's _loving_ that."

"He looks sort of green," the dark girl corrects, cocking her head.

"That seems about right. He's not very good with compliments."

"Because he is with only one foot?" Genuinely curious, Jenny peeks around the doorframe, presumably at Hiccup's foot. "He walks like he is whole."

"He is whole," Astrid defends, but gently this time. "He's just…part of him is metal, but it doesn't mean it isn't part of him. Just like how even though part of me is sad, the rest of me can still be happy, you know?" Jenny nods before Astrid can feel completely ignorant and vulnerable.

"You are better today."

"Yeah," Astrid nods. "I'm good, I swear."

"Oh, and before we go back in," Jenny pulls a slip of paper out of her pocket and hands it to the blonde. "My phone number. Josie said she would call to learn if my refrigerator is running if she had it, so this is a secret." Astrid pockets the slip of paper, carefully tucking it into the deepest corner.

"I'll text you as soon as it isn't thirty cents anymore." And there's another friend, standing in front of her, reading her like a book before Hiccup even dared to make the same leap. "And I'm going to kick your ass in the NCAA next year."

"We will see about that," Jenny grins, teeth gleaming white against her deep skin. "I know to fix my kick now."

"You haven't seen anything," Astrid grins, and the two girls laugh before turning to walk back inside in unison.

"...so she shows up at the shelter, and there's this pitbull who never talked to anyone, barely even me. And she has the thing on its back in two minutes," Hiccup laughs, the rest of the table watching oddly enraptured. Astrid's normal jealousy is replaced with sort of a sick pride as she walks up beside him and knocks an excessively gentle fist against his shoulder. "And that's when she started doing that," he grumbles, pretending to hide his mouth from her as she sits down.

"So funny," she jokes, her hand finding his thigh under the table and squeezing.

"He is pretty funny," Sarah agrees.

"And cute," Josie nods, looking at Hiccup oddly appraisingly. He blushes and Astrid rubs at his thigh. "Even without the wolf."

"I know," Astrid grins and looks around the table for menus, frowning slightly at their absence. "And of course I missed out on ordering."

"Umm, I got you," Hiccup admits sheepishly and Astrid cocks her head. "The special is chocolate chip pancakes."

"They have chocolate chip pancakes in Scotland?" She snorts and he shrugs.

"If they're weird, I'm sorry. It just…I figured it's practically a tradition at this point." And she's back at a Colorado IHOP, somewhere past hysterical, telling an earnest, still boyish Hiccup about how Scott isn't a thug.

"Thank you," she leans over and kisses his cheek before remembering where they are. They turn to face the table and everyone is staring intently, like some new Ryan Gosling movie is being projected onto their foreheads. "But that's," her fist is gentle as it knocks against his shoulder again, "for not asking me first."

"You're welcome," he nudges his shoulder against hers and she loses the fight with her rising blush.

"You two are…disgustingly adorable," Josie assesses. "I thought you were all tough, Astrid."

"Oh, don't say _that_," Hiccup warns, and everyone laughs. "You all do want to live, don't you?" For the first time since Scott's biceps equated to immediate status, Astrid can see the merit in showing off her boyfriend.

00000

Afternoon is a rainstorm and a smorgasbord of cookies—or biscuits, whatever—and Hiccup's hotel room, where the sheets have been blissfully changed since the slightly soggy night before. Some stupid movie plays in the background as they sit facing each other, Hiccup's prosthetic on the floor and his stump resting in the cradle of her crossed legs.

She balances a cookie briefly on his knee, jumping as thunder claps outside.

"This is nice," he comments, watching her fingers lovingly fiddle with the bottom of his pant leg.

"It really is," she agrees, popping another cookie into her mouth and humming happily. "Try one of those," she urges him, holding the package in his direction. "Seriously, the best I've tried yet."

"I meant sitting here with you, not the food," he smiles gently, taking the package and setting it back on the bed. "But thanks for that."

"Oh come on," she chides. "Of course you're better than the cookies."

"No 'of course' about it," Hiccup positively beams. "You just said _I_ am better than food. I should mark this down in my calendar. First I should get a calendar—"

"Either give me back my cookies, or tell me what you were going to tell me," Astrid tries to threaten through a laugh. She ditched her jacket a while ago and the throw blanket around her shoulders conceals much of the tank top that Hiccup would really like to see.

"I—I didn't want to bring it up yesterday," he starts, and she should get nervous, but there's something hopeful in his tone that keeps her upbeat. "But I've got the room through Thursday. And another return ticket…and considering Josie turned down my offer…" he jokes, but his eyes are upturned and hopeful beneath their jovial glaze.

"Until Thursday you said?" She asks, counting the days in her mind. Counting the mornings waking up wrapped around him, and the long rainy afternoons spent curled up and comfortable. The long nights, full of exploring more than the city and not worrying about dogs breaking them apart for attention any time soon.

"And I mean, I know there's not much to _do_—but I'm sure we'd still have fun, and it just makes sense to not travel again to go somewhere for spring break—"

"Who says there's not much to do?" Astrid asks coyly, and the tone goes right over Hiccup's still clueless head.

"I just mean that it's cold and—"

"I'm from Colorado."

"And it rains every afternoon this time of year," Hiccup finishes looking slightly peeved. She likes the way his eyebrows furrow inward when he's annoyed, grazing the edge of those brilliant green eyes and making them _louder_, more expressive.

"I think there's plenty to do," she shrugs, looking him pointedly up and down. He blushes and tugs at his collar. She bites her lip.

"Er…by that do you mean…?"

"Yeah, there's _plenty_ to do," she affirms, leaning over to kiss him, cookie packages crinkling frantically as she pushes them to the ground.

00000

**Gotta love that warning against porn up top…followed by porn. It's alright. **

**Anyway, I'm really happy with the end of this chapter, it came together sort of quickly, and I have to thank a lot of you for suggesting that Hiccup meet Astrid's team! **

**And I'm sorry, but I'm absolutely whipped from a too long week, and I'll be getting to responding to last chapter's reviews tomorrow! **


	25. Chapter 25

**Long time no post. Sorry, school. School. I'll finish responding to those last chapter reviews soon! **

00000

Something about the end of the month always makes it a horrible time to fly. Congressman Haddock didn't even choose to fly home on March thirtieth until the day before, but it's definitely a decision not to be repeated. He stomps inside, dropping his briefcase on the ground and hanging his coat from a hook next to the door, leaning down and patting Spike's head as she comes running down the hallway to greet him. Toothless follows, wagging enthusiastically and briefly licking at the man's fingers before whirling to trot back down the hallway, loathe as always to be separated from Henry for too long.

"Henry?" Gerard calls out, but there's no answer. The boy's probably got his headphones on again, and the man wonders just how long this current computer marathon has been going on.

Henry will come out when he feels like it, Gerard reasons, too glad to be home as he walks into the kitchen, grabbing a beer out of the fridge and a bottle opener from the drawer. He pops the cap off and takes a sip of the cold brew, sighing contentedly and looking around. Somehow, the jar of Astrid's protein powder on the counter makes the room feel more like a home and he picks up the large plastic container, reading the ingredients.

So she's trying pea protein. He's heard good things, but will always be a whey man himself.

Something catches his eye on the counter, almost blending in with the slate gray counter top, and he takes another hearty swig of beer, stepping over to the peculiarly plain black, square box and opening the lid. In three neat rows, sit nine chocolates, and he frowns briefly before setting the lid on the counter.

Why would there be chocolates on the counter?

They don't look to be special or anything…he dabbles for a moment before popping one into his mouth. It's been a long day, and the beer is going down so smoothly that he has a couple more. At this point, he's relatively sure that they must be for him, because last time he checked, Hiccup has never been interested in dark chocolate, and these must be at least 80% cacao.

Five of the six remaining go down with the rest of his beer and he rests against the counter for a moment, feeling sufficiently revitalized. His elbow bumps the box a few inches to the right and reveals a folded white sheet of paper underneath it. He pulls out the paper, fully expecting a misplaced shopping list or something and unfolds it, smoothing the crease with massive thumbs as his heart drops through his stomach.

_Astrid,_

_I love you, come see me when you get home. I'm out in the garage._

Oh.

Oh.

Gerard coughs awkwardly, fumbling indecisively with the lid to the box. Should he just cover it and walk away? Or throw the box away? No—does he have time to go buy a new box? Just as he's walking too quickly towards the kitchen doorway, pulling his car keys out of his pockets, he hears Spike and Toothless scrambling across the entryway, whimpering excitedly as Astrid greets them in a high voice he's absolutely sure she doesn't mean him to hear.

"Hey, how was Washington?" She greets, hugging him with a slightly uncomfortable single arm as she edges around him into the kitchen, opening that jar of protein powder and pulling milk out of the fridge to mix it with. "I thought you weren't supposed to be home until tomorrow?"

"Ah, I decided to come home a bit early," he shrugs, staring at that still open box on the opposite counter. Astrid stirs her protein shake and takes a gulp, grimacing at that gritty surface layer.

"Let me guess…Oregon driving you crazy this time? Or California?" She asks with a grin, and the truth flows out of the red-faced man's mouth in a flustered rush.

"I ate these," he bumbles, picking up the box and holding it in her direction. He's never looked as much like Hiccup as he does now and Astrid blushes. "I didn't realize it was for you and it was on the counter and the box was so _manly_—"

"At least he gave up with the _pink_," Astrid laughs, stepping forward and taking the mostly empty box, almost eating the final one before frowning and offering it to Hiccup's dad. "Do you want the last one? I have a meet on Friday."

"Astrid I couldn't take your—the rest of your umm…"

"It's fine, third time in two weeks. The last time it was a cake and that sent me back a pound. I have league in a week and a half," she shrugs, urging him towards the chocolate. "Come on, isn't it like some foster parental duty to save me or something?" She laughs and it's too comfortable somehow, it seems like no one should ever be this at ease with their boyfriend's father. "I mean, if you don't eat it, I'm not going to eat it, and then your son is going to be butt-hurt."

"Why _exactly_," he plucks the chocolate delicately from the box and Astrid sighs relieved, "is Henry giving you chocolate?"

"Why does he do anything?" Astrid gripes, her face splitting into a reluctant smile. "I don't know. But I can't convince him to stop."

"Are you sure that he didn't _do_ anything?"

"No, we're never going to tell you what happened in Scotland," Astrid rolls her eyes. "We're fine, alright?"

"I should have been around more when you two weren't so happy—"

"Ugh, I'd rather not have you jump onto the list of people who've seen me cry, thanks."

"He made you cry?" Gerard asks, awkward and neutrally paternal.

"Ok," Astrid shakes her head. "This is…umm, how should I phrase this? Thanks for your concern, and we're fine. Your son is great."

"Have you thought about politics, Astrid?" He asks and she flushes.

"Not hard."

"Well you should," Gerard nods.

"Umm, thanks," Astrid pushes her bangs behind her ear and chugs the rest of her protein shake, setting the slightly gritty empty glass in the sink. "I'm assuming that a note came with this?" She asks, closing the empty box and tucking it under her arm.

"Um…yes," The man holds out the folded paper, again a blushing model of an older Hiccup. Astrid takes it, shoving it straight into her hoodie pocket. "He wanted you to go and see him."

"Great, that means there's more to this _surprise_," she rolls her eyes, trying to be any color but crimson as she remembers what happened after his last surprise. He can't just surprise her with ridiculous red silk boxers and expect her to behave normally.

And he's still making fun of her for her reaction. It's barely even worth it, if now he's going to laugh at her every night, suggesting that they're _comfortable_, and he should _probably _just sleep in them.

He looks stupid in them anyway. Completely idiotic.

Really, profoundly stupid.

She's not drooling right now, that's ridiculous.

It's just the smugness, honestly, not the way that they cling to the sides of that ass and—Ugh, he's winning every second she dwells on it.

God, he wore them to school yesterday and she could see them peeking out over the top of his jeans when he sat next to her in physics, and it was downright cruel. She doesn't even realize that she's zoned out until Gerard's voice breaks through a too thick haze.

"…just glad you guys are getting along. And I don't mean to be…I have to be prudent here, Astrid. I know you and Henry have been sleeping in the same—"

"I promise that we don't need this lecture," Astrid cuts him off, free hand raised in front of her face as she backs up a step.

"It's not a lecture," Gerard shrugs awkwardly, "I'm just making sure that you're both being responsible—"

"I'm on the pill," she cuts him off, stony eyed and serious. "Have been since I was like fifteen, sports physician said it would be a good move. I had anemia and…yeah."

"Oh, well," he flushes. "I'm glad to hear that you're thinking umm…"

"I'm going to go talk to him, alright?" Astrid exits the conversation decisively, stepping backwards away from him and fumbling the note in her pocket. "This says he's out in the garage…obviously. I'll get him to come say hi."

She hustles out of the room before the conversation can continue, the edge of the box digging conspicuously into her tricep as she pushes into the garage, knocking on the open door to alert Hiccup to her presence. He's mostly hidden under the four foot square base of his catapult, prosthetic scraping across the cement floor as he twists to peek out at her. She steps down the stairs, almost tripping over Toothless as he pushes past her, picking up an antler he must have left earlier and gnawing happily.

"I see you found it," he smiles and she flushes, walking across the floor and plopping to sit next to his feet.

"Actually your dad found it," she opens the now empty box and shows it to him. His jaw drops as his eyebrows hide behind the haphazard hair on his forehead.

"So he's home then?" Hiccup asks, rubbing the back of his neck. "And I guess he found the note and—"

"Well, it's probably best he found it," she puts on a serious face and sets the empty box on his bedside table. "Why do you keep getting me…what's with all the surprises?" She asks, hand drifting to his bad knee and stroking at his thigh.

"I love you—"

"Yeah, can I get the real reason?" she cuts him off. "Honestly, Hiccup, I have league next week, and a qualifying meet on Friday, and…" her voice drops to a harsh whisper, "and honestly, with all the candy and all the sitting around studying I've gained like three pounds."

Hiccup is wise enough to restrain his laughter.

"I'll start getting you broccoli," he jokes and she snorts. "I—I guess, things have been really great since spring break, and I still feel bad about how—before spring break when I called you a—and you know, when there was um…nudity before we talked and—" he sighs, and rests his hand on top of hers. She bites her lip and avoids eye contact. "Wow, I actually do suck at this."

"You don't suck, Hiccup," she corrects him, too angry. "I mean, thank you." Her head lands on his shin that's peeking out from under the catapult before the thought is fully processed and he smiles. "And you've been forgiven for a _while_."

"I know, I just want to restrain your rage," he laughs lightly and she hits him too gently in the knee. "And my last surprise went over so well—"

"So help me if you got more of those ridiculous boxers. I don't understand why it's so funny—"

"It's pretty funny because you jumped me like I was trying to get away—"

"I was making sure that no one saw through the window. You looked ridiculous," she flushes, sitting up and glaring at him. He smiles wider, utterly nonplussed.

"Right, all those neighbors that we don't have spying. I'll let you pretend you can resist all this raw—" He puffs up and she cuts him off laughing, setting the empty box on the ground and slithering under the wood construction beside him. He scoots over to make room and their shoulders brush as she tries to get comfortable on the mat he's using to shield his shoulders and head from the cold cement floor. "So, anyway, my dad found this?"

"Yeah, and he's noticed we're sleeping in the same room," she laughs, trying to make sense of the complicated construction hanging above her head, partially supported by a hunk of four by four propped on the ground.

"I bet that was all sorts of fun to talk about," he laughs, reaching back up and wiggling a flathead screwdriver against a something she doesn't recognize, arm muscles clenching as he bites his lip in concentration. "Can you help me out really quick?"

"Sure," she offers, suddenly acutely aware of just how out of her depth she is. Her hands feel dull and useless at the ends of her arms and she looks to him for further direction.

"Yeah, can you put your hand right here?" He points to a rounded corner of wood and she reaches up, grabbing it and trying to keep her arm out of his line of sight. "Hold that up…a little to the left," he grunts and smiles as something breaks loose under the blade of his screwdriver. "Thank you…just needed three hands for a second."

"Can I let go?"

"Oh, yeah, sorry. You're good now," he fiddles with the mechanism, tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth in concentration. "So I'm assuming my dad wants me to come inside and say hi?" He asks, and it's impossible not to be distracted by his furrowed brow and the way his eyes are glowing even in the shadow. "And probably get my lecture?"

"He can wait," she scoots over, pressing the side of her leg against his and relaxing back into the floor.

00000

"No, you three go," Astrid waves a nervous Hiccup towards his father. "I've got homework and pizza, go have your guys' night." Hiccup's eyes flick to the freshly delivered pizza box and the phone in his dad's hand, before turning back to Astrid and widening urgently.

"I don't know, dad, the pizza just got here," he rubs his palms together exaggeratedly eagerly. "I mean, just smell those eleven herbs and spices."

"That's KFC," Astrid corrects him, pulling her hair into a quick ponytail and opening the box.

"And Gobber wants to see you," Gerard pats his son on the back with a meaty palm. "You've been so busy with Astrid, and without the shelter," the man clears his throat and glances down at Spike, rightfully ashamed. "And now that you're not managing track…anyway, I'm sure you two have a lot to catch up on."

Hiccup looks crossly at Astrid for assistance. She rolls her eyes and takes a massive bite out of her steaming slice of pizza, looking down at the cheese appreciatively.

"But I haven't seen him since spring break," Hiccup reminds her through gritted teeth, 'save me' eyes downright pathetic.

"Oh yeah, we ran into him in my hotel," she shrugs and shoots him a glare. She's getting a little tired of him avoiding Gobber and frankly the world at large. Yes. They had sex. Whoop-di-doo. For a teenaged guy, he's frankly a little too embarrassed for being _caught_ in her hotel room.

Gobber knocked, she answered, he was watching a movie. Whatever, no story to it.

Maybe men have some invisible virginity detector, and he thought he'd be suspicious. But even then it's not like Gobber is her _parent_ or anything.

Frankly, it wasn't charming how mortified he was.

She's not stupid enough to think that he was embarrassed to have slept with her…but it wouldn't have been _bad_ for her ego if he'd been a little more eager to share the news.

Not necessarily with her coach, but still.

He doesn't have to hide it so goddamn well.

"Come on Henry," Gerard urges his son with a hand on the boy's shoulder. Hiccup glares back at Astrid who shrugs and grins unsympathetically. "Plus, it'll be good for you two to have a few hours apart, can't lose track of your other interests."

Like his life? It's going to be so great having Astrid absent and also the most interesting thing that the three of them have in common. Hiccup thinks idly, following his dad out of the front door to the car still parked by the front walkway. Hiccup isn't exactly excited for unmitigated manly bonding, but he nods pleasantly, climbing into the car.

"Probably," he chews on his lip and looks around the car, tapping his metal foot on the floor with a plastic clicking. "Almost done with this year's catapult," he offers as conversations and his father nods amicably.

"Think you'll win again this year?"

"Oh, I didn't know you knew I won last year," Hiccup blurts before clamming up. He rubs suddenly clammy palms over his thighs to dry them. "Yeah, I'd say we have a good shot…initial tests had us firing far enough to break last year's record, but then the ballast mechanism failed…but…ok," he finishes in an oddly disjointed tone, clearing his throat.

His father glimpses sideways and Hiccup kicks himself as his latest _magical _attempt at father-son bonding punches him in the face. His phone buzzes in his pocket and he pulls it out, opening a text from Astrid.

'And be nice to your dad. Not everyone thinks you're as funny as I do.'

Great, now she can read his mind at a distance. That bodes so well for his future privacy.

"That's good to hear," Gerard responds mildly, and Hiccup hears sarcasm where there is none.

"Umm…sorry," he pauses, panicking slightly when his father doesn't immediately respond. "It's just last year we weren't exactly getting along and I honestly didn't realize that you paid any attention to…I managed to hide a _wolf_, dad."

"I'm still curious how long you carried that on," Gerard shakes his head, smiling slightly to himself.

"Oh you know…about a year," Hiccup relays with a sheepish shrug.

"A year?" That anger is almost back, as the man feels duped all over again.

"If you want to get technical about it, fifteen months."

"Fifteen months," Gerard shakes his head, stuck somewhere between ashamed and amazed. "And I've always prided myself on being observant."

"Exactly," Hiccup can't help but hate his father's down-trodden tone. "That's why I'm so sneaky, I had to learn to be stealthy."

"Right," Gerard laughs, smart enough to be grateful that after everything, his son still has that urge to comfort him.

"Yeah, and all those times I fell down the stairs," the boy nods smugly, like he's exposing government secrets to an eager crowd. "Just to throw you off the scent." They both laugh, and the stiff atmosphere lifts from their shoulders but hovers above like rain clouds no one wants to point out.

As much as it would defeat the purpose of a so called guys' night, Hiccup still wishes Astrid were here. She relates to his dad lie a keyboard to a computer, clicking into place and communicating without another thought. And then, most miraculously, she doesn't mind translating.

Earlier this year, the three of them watched the Superbowl together. It wasn't something Hiccup was looking forward to, given that Sundays had been stressful enough for the rest of the football season, sitting flinchingly next to Astrid while she yelled at the TV. Her favorite team won the league or something, and he'd sad through her prattling on about the quarterback for a week in an admiring way that reminded him too much of a puppy loyally following its mom.

About five minutes past kick-off in the big game, there was a rough patch when Hiccup asked a little too loudly which outfit he was supposed to be cheering for, and it turned out that Astrid and his dad were unknowingly opposing each other. But beyond their breakout barrage of insults, they both seemed to find mutual solace in complaining about the long-winded announcer. In the end, Hiccup sided with his dad, but Astrid's team thankfully won and saved him from most of her fury. Not to mention the beer his dad gave him while they stood in silence together, heads hung in mourning that Hiccup didn't quite understand.

It was arguably the best father-son bonding experience that he's had since he was young enough to sit on the other man's shoulders, and it was entirely due to Astrid.

Even after he'd flipped to the dark side, rooting against her, she still leaned over to whisper in his ear that his team's fucking asshole running back gained thirty yards and he should probably cheer. She kept him talking, kept him interested with flirtatious gloating and animated insults that he could throw back for his dad's enjoyment.

She prevented awkward silences like the one currently brewing in the car. He checks his phone, hoping for another blurb of sage advice and coming back dry.

"So, have you heard back from the School of Mines?" Gerard asks, clearing his throat.

"Yeah," Hiccup nods, eager and so far from the nervous eighteen year old that his father used to be. "I'm in…but I haven't accepted yet."

"Well…why not?" Hiccup's father shrugs, looking over his shoulder at his son meaningfully. The young man's eyes widen as his foot stops tapping against the floor with punctuated silence.

"I haven't heard back from Harvard," Hiccup bites back something pointless and sarcastic with everything he has and the car is too silent.

"You don't want to go to Harvard, Henry." Shaking his head, Gerard radiates apology like days are running out. "That was…You want to go and make things. Just looking around anyone can tell that you're good at it."

"Umm…ok, so this is you letting me…you really think that I should?" He checks, feeling oddly exposed and accepted in a way previously only related to dogs and more recently Astrid.

"What? You didn't think you were going to leave Toothless for me to take care of, did you?" He asks, "Spike, sure, but that wolf still doesn't trust me."

"Thanks dad," Hiccup nods and the following silence isn't quite so awkward anymore.

00000

"So you actually think that a natural fiber rope would support the load?" Hiccup affirms, leaning over the table and eating a lonely bacon crumb from the edge of the empty appetizer plate.

"Aye," Gobber nods. "What did ye think Romans used? Polyester?"

"Jupiter's beard, obviously," Hiccup mumbles, running the design modifications through in his mind. "And if I loop it—Oh! I think that'll actually fix it."

"No problem, lad." Gobber grins, clinking his glass against Hiccup's. "S'pose I should be thankin' ye fer fixin' things wit Astrid. She's not quite as crazy."

"Must be saving it _all_ for me, then," Hiccup jokes and both men laugh. "No, but she's been happier on this end too."

"And if ye don' mind me mentionin', she's been a bit looser in the hips too," that infernal toast raises again and Hiccup flushes a deeply unflattering startled crimson, wondering just how much the Scotsman had to drink before they arrived.

"I mind—" Hiccup starts, affronted.

"Gobber!" Gerard admonishes his friend, sputtering around a half-swallowed mouthful.

"What? It's better fer her anyway," the coach nods. "She was on the way te injurin' a hip flexor, being tha' wound tight all the time." Hiccup's dad stares astonished while Hiccup finds it hard not to be morbidly fascinated.

"You can tell that from the way she _runs_?" He asks, voice cracking.

"She shaved ten seconds off 'er mile time."

"Because she's been working her ass off!" Gerard defends Astrid and Hiccup immediately feels awkward for not jumping on that opportunity, "not because Henry's been loosening—Oh." He stops and rethinks his words. "Never mind."

"Someone has te congratulate Hiccup," Gobber shrugs, clunking Hiccup on the shoulder with a metal hand.

"No one needs to congratulate me," the younger man insists, dodging another enthusiastic steel pat.

"Congratulate him on what?"

"No congratulations necessary," Hiccup interjects, and Gobber ignores him.

"On the fact that he's a man now, or whatever cliché strikes yer fancy," Gobber winks and Gerard falters.

"That _just_ happened? I thought for sure before your accident—"

"No!" Hiccup shakes his head, wishing that the floor would just open up and swallow him whole. "Nope, nope, nope."

"Really?" His father asks again, gossipy like a teenager left out of some loop.

"No dad, plus, Astrid was dating someone else," he reminds his father, utterly sure that he's told this story before.

"Well, everyone 'as been wonderin' about tha'," Gobber scratches his chin. "That was a quick turnover," Hiccup glares at the man who shrugs innocently. "It was all anyone could talk about in the teachers' lounge. One secon' she's breakin' yer arm, then ye two are jus' talkin', then she's dumpin' the quarterback and sayin' she loves ye. I'm not crazy te think there was some overlap there."

"There was no _overlap_," Hiccup insists.

Gerard is still stuck a few developments back.

"She was that upset over you, and you hadn't even…yet?" It's one of the few times that Hiccup feels his own father is genuinely impressed with him…but this particular moment isn't worth recreating. "I thought you'd been together for a bit by that point."

"No Jerry, she jus' broke up wit the football player on Friday, Hiccup got his leg busted on Sunday." Gobber corrects his friend and Gerard nods like someone's delivering a believable but fantastic pitch.

"That is a quick turnover."

Before anything about the situation can get any more tragically embarrassing, the waiter rounds the corner with their food, setting it on the table in front of them.

"Oh food!" Hiccup says too loudly, looking around and distracting from that horrible, horrible conversation. "Food is here. I'm hungry, who's hungry?" Gerard leans towards Gobber and whispers loudly enough for Hiccup to hear absolutely clearly.

"I'm still surprised he has a girlfriend."

" 'E traded a leg fer it," Gobber shrugs and Hiccup glares, deflating and eating a French fry with more vengeance that should really be possible. His phone buzzes in his pocket and he pulls it out to see another text from Astrid, more practical than wise.

'Is squiggly E the same thing as voltage?'

'Yes,' he shoots back decisively, setting his phone on his chair beside his leg in case she follows up.

"Kids and their phones," Gerard rolls his eyes amicably. "My intern, DU law student, top of his class, and I can't get him to put the damn thing down."

"Try getting' high schoolers to leave their phones in their lockers during practice," Gobber commiserates, "And we miss ye Hiccup, my new manager missed half the JV mile race last week because of some sugar crush game."

"It's a physics question, or I'd ignore it," he promises amicably. Gerard whispers something about realizing why Hiccup has a girlfriend and Gobber laughs.

Dinner conversation is pleasant for the most part, and both men are nursing a fresh beer as the waiter comes to take their plates away. They're talking about golf, and Hiccup is utterly bored, crunching on an ice cube and resisting the urge to check the time. His phone vibrates again and he glances at the screen, eyes furtive around the edge of the table.

'How soon do you think you'll be home?'

'No idea,' he responds, looking back across the table at the men who are now discussing college sports and some conference with ten people. Apparently someone is being snubbed, and Hiccup digs deep for a reason to care.

'Too bad, I'm heading to bed.'

'Ok goodnight.'

He's unnecessarily glum hitting send. He'll see her in the morning, probably even later tonight considering that going to bed means going to his bed. He'll be curled up around her sprawled sleeping self within a few hours, but that doesn't mean he won't miss talking to her.

Love is chronic and illogical.

Of course discussing college sports has somehow led back to coaching, and Astrid, and Hiccup perks up slightly, leaning towards the conversation.

"…CU has a shot against Stanford as a team this year. I mean, they've got two NCAA champs back from the Olympics, and now Astrid on an already good distance team."

"An' now, wit Astrid, they've got someone who can actually compete in the 3k and 5k, they've been dominating longer distances an' the 800, but they've had no one for the mid-distances."

"Do you really think she's going to translate well to college competition though?" Gerard asks, "I mean, can she come back from a loss reliably?"

Hiccup wants to scoff, but Gobber beats him to it.

"I thought tha' too, until Worlds. She came back from nationals wit _some_ attitude."

Hiccup zones out a bit, wondering just how many times his father and Gobber have talked coaching over the years. How many times have they spent nights talking about Astrid's most recent race, or her potential? Did his dad have a concept of who Astrid used to be that day when he confessed who'd broken his wrist?

Had he heard of her as bitchy, or misunderstood, or wily and aggressive before he even met her? He wonders if Astrid usurped his dad's expectations as much as his.

His phone twitches.

Hiccup is a little too excited, because he honestly expected Astrid to go to sleep immediately and he pulls the device out a little too vigorously, almost banging it against the underside of the table before cradling it in his palm.

'So…I'm naked in your bed.'

He blanches and coughs, fumbling his phone and dropping it onto the ground. His dad reaches down to pick it up and he almost falls out of his chair as he launches himself forward to grab it first. His right shin smacks against the center pole of the table and he winces, sitting up stony-faced and flushed.

"Everything alright?" His dad asks and he shrugs violently, smacking his knuckles against the edge of the table. His phone might as well be a brick of lead if feels so obvious sittin gin his lap.

"Psh, I'm fine. It's all fine," he nods vigorously, hoping it'll drain the blush from his cheeks. "Just physics. Astrid—" and he can picture how she lays on his bed in the early morning, half covered, swathes of warm golden skin peeking through the messy sheets. "Just Astrid asking about physics…I mean, she has questions…lots of questions…"

"Are _you_ alright?" Gerard rephrases and Hiccup clears his throat.

"I'm fine…so, we were talking about Astrid and running?" He tries to shake off the fuzzy gurgling in his stomach. "I think she's going to be great. I think if she's suddenly on a team where she isn't given as the first seed, then she's going to do that psycho-Astrid thing and obsessively prove herself…and I'm not going to bet against her."

It would be a decent recovery if she weren't so…twitchy.

His phone buzzes again and he bites his lip, trying to ignore it.

"I'd agree," Gerard weighs the opinion and Hiccup anxiously bides his time until the men look back at each other. Please let the second text be explaining how the first one was entirely a mistake.

Or maybe a promise that she'll get naked later…except that's probably worse. He exhales slowly, trying to get his rampant heartbeat under control.

"I don't know, she's goin' te blow that knee o' hers tryin' to show off," Gobber shakes his head, more a worried parent than a coach.

Show off.

The phrase blazes in his mind like a firework, magnesium bright. He stands up before it's a cognizant decision, gripping his phone too tightly. Both men stare at him and he shrugs, gesturing towards the back of the restaurant.

"I'm going to go use the bathroom now, because…because…you can guess why, I guess. So I'm going…" he pushes out, tripping over his chair with his inorganic foot and striding back towards the men's room. He slips inside and locks the door on the largest stall, leaning against the wall and checking his phone.

'I'm starting without you.'

He exhales through his mouth and brings shaky thumbs to his phone, answering carefully.

'Do you just enjoy torturing me?'

'It's not quite as fun as you coming home,' she responds almost immediately, and he sighs.

'I'll be home soon, I'll try.'

'I'm still starting without you,' she insists, and the silence is dreadfully charged. He tries and fails not to imagine what's going on at the other end of the connection. 'And it feels good.'

'You can't wait an hour?'

'This feels good now,' she takes a second longer to follow up this time, and the extra time is murder. 'Not as good as you.'

'I'll try and be home soon.'

The longest wait yet.

'Astrid 1, Hiccup 0'

'What?'

'I have one point. If you wait too long, I don't know how you're going to catch up.' She challenges him coquettishly, and the reality of why he was waiting is suddenly too scalding in his chest.

Oh God.

And she has to do this tonight, she has to do this here.

'I'll be home soon.'

He charges out of the bathroom with a purpose, slowing down as he approaches the table, just how daunting this situation is dawning on him. Right, just walk up there and tell his dad that they need to leave now because there's a naked girl in his bed who needs some raw…Hiccup.

Because he hasn't been laughed at enough tonight.

"Everything alright, Henry?" Gerard asks again, and Hiccup shrugs.

"I'm good…" and he's back sitting at his spot before it's really a decision, denim cool against the fake leather cushion. He feels like he's running a fever, the image of what's going on in his bed, ridiculously and unfairly _without _him, running through his mind on a loop. "Completely…I have school tomorrow," he reminds them, raising a hand to his mouth and remembering to fake a yawn.

"It's nine thirty, live a little," Gobber takes his last gulp of beer and sets the empty glass on the table. "Bein' out a little late won' kill ye."

"I have a test…" he lies, automatically knowing he's too obvious. "I have a biology test. On the body systems…digestive, endocrine, _reproductive_…umm" he coughs, "muscular…integumentary…I still need to study."

"Ye'll do fine, I was talkin' te yer teacher the other day," Gobber rolls his eyes. "She said you and Astrid are downright ready te take yer AP."

"I'm starting to think that's because Astrid's independent," Gerard jokes as Hiccup's phone vibrates in his pocket. "And she can study a few hours by herself without getting…strange."

Hiccup glances at the text.

'I need you.'

Independent. Ha.

"Strange? Who gets strange?" Hiccup asks, scratching his thigh and repositioning his jeans as subtly as he can manage. "Oh, me? Come on dad, this is _me_ we're talking about, this is practically normal for me."

Another buzz.

'2.'

"Maybe we should be getting home, Gobber," Gerard stands, so so slowly and Hiccup jumps to his feet, jittering. He'd thought getting everything sexual out in the open would be a loosening force, but it really just seems to have given her more leverage to coil him up.

"That sounds like a great idea," Hiccup waves too peppy at Gobber before glaring at his own hand and letting it fall listlessly to his side.

"Anyway, I'm sure we'll see you around soon—Henry," Gerard barks after his son as the young man starts walking towards the exit of the restaurant, purposeful but lingering. "Can you wait two seconds?"

He glances at his phone again.

'3.'

God, is she missing with him, or has she really…well, _three_ times. Without him. Alone.

Naked in his bed.

"I'm waiting," Hiccup tells his dad, rocking back and forth slowly between his feet, staring at the goodbye going on in front of him. They will see each other soon, some expediency would be appreciated.

Now.

Or ten seconds ago.

Or before Astrid got naked. He doesn't understand why she almost always insists on doing that part. He likes helping her get undressed—

"Ok," Hiccup's father catches up to him and they walk out to the parking lot, climbing into the car and pulling out of the parking lot. "Are you and Astrid going to let me sleep tonight?" The man asks with a disturbingly understanding smile.

Hiccup gulps.

"She's already asleep. I just—I want to get home, it was a long day."

"I wish I'd had my own phone when I was dating your mother," Gerard shakes his head wistfully. "I couldn't say anything I didn't want my own mother to hear if she picked up the other end of the house line."

"Oh, the seventies. Another planet…" Hiccup mumbles.

"Henry—"

"Fine," Hiccup shakes his head, forcing his face calm as his phone vibrates again. "We will keep it down because we'll be sleeping, and that's a traditionally quiet activity."

"I'll hold you to that."

And sometimes that male concept of less is more, those feelings hidden under rugs and in closets is happier than any sort of heart to heart.

Hiccup says goodnight to his father in the entry-way fifteen minutes later, scratching both eager dogs on the head and leaving them with his dad, slipping into his room attempting to hide every vestige of eagerness and probably failing. It's dark and cool in his room with the door shut, but breezy, because Astrid can't sleep with the window closed and the room full of stuffy, humid air.

She's sprawled on his bed, definitely nude, with the covers pulled over her chest, one lean leg hanging over the side of the mattress. She's snoring.

He checks his phone, and it doesn't look like she ever quite made it to four, and she wasn't too pleased about it.

He strips down to his boxers, cracking the door for the dogs and perching on the edge of the bed to click off his leg, sliding into bed next to her and carefully scooting her closer to the wall. Even in her sleep she resents being put anywhere, and she feebly elbows behind her before sighing pleasantly and grabbing his arm, tugging it around her waist and holding onto it with sleep strong fingers. He fixes the comforter around her, face pushing into the loose hair across his pillow as he holds her close, skin on skin contact surprisingly chaste and comforting.

Toothless and Spike slip in, hallway light leaking through the barely open door as they curl up on the foot of the bed.

Hiccup should get up and shut the door…but well, his dad was so sure about their eventual activities, it's not like he'll be checking in.

There are some advantages to crippling embarrassment.

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**So…happy fluffy embarrassment? I really like this chapter, even though it's sort of word vomit. I promise I edited, but it wasn't quite as planned as normal.**

**Then again, goofy is better off the cuff, I think. **

**Anyway, thank you for your continued responses! **


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